.  

AND  KATHARINE  A.  FALL 

3 3 d  ' 


&J$  CM 


wL*i 


avfci^r^S 


E1WINOTON    BEHELD   A   WILD,    DISTORTED   FIGURE   RUNNING   TOWARD    HIM,   WITH   ITS 
HEAD  DOWNWARD,  AND  BEARING  ALOFT  A  SMOKING  PINE  TORCH.  — Page  22. 

— Tiielma. 


T  HELM  A. 

BOOK  I. 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUM 


CHAPTER  I. 

"Dream  by  dream  shot  through  her  eyes,  and  each 
Outshone  the  last  that  lighted." 

SWINBURNE. 

MIDNIGHT, — without  darkness,  without  stars  !  Midnight, 
• — and  the  unwearied  sun  stood,  yet  visible  in  the  heavens, 
like  a  victorious  king  throned  on  a  dais  of  royal  purple 
bordered  with  gold.  The  sky  above  him, — his  canopy, — 
gleamed  with  a  cold  yet  lustrious  blue,  while  across  it 
slowly  flitted  a  few  wandering  clouds  of  palest  amber,  deep- 
ening, as  they  sailed  along,  to  a  tawny  orange.  A  broad 
stream  of  light  falling,  as  it  were,  from  the  centre  of  the 
magnificent  orb,  shot  lengthwise  across  the  Altenfjord, 
turning  its  waters  to  a  mass  of  quivering  and  shifting  color 
that  alternated  from  bronfce  to  copper, — from  copper  to  sil- 
ver and  azure.  The  surrounding  hills  glowed  with  a  warm, 
deep  violet  tint,  flecked  here  and  there  with  touches  of 
bright  red,  as  though  fairies  were  lighting  tiny  bonfires  on 
their  summits.  Away  in  the  distance  a  huge  mass  of  rock 
stood  out  to  view,  its  rugged  lines  transfigured  into  ethe- 
real loveliness  by  a  misty  veil  of  tender  rose  pink, — a  hue 
curiously  suggestive  of  some  other  and  smaller  sun  that 
might  have  just  set.  Absolute  silence  prevailed.  Not  even 
the  cry  of  a  sea-mew  or  kittiwake  broke  the  almost  death- 
like stillness, — no  breath  of  wind  stirred  a  ripple  on  the 
glassy  water.  The  whole  scene  might  well  have  been  the 
fantastic  dream  of  some  imaginative  painter,  whose  ambi- 
tion soared  beyond  the  limits  of  human  skill.  Yet  it  was 


2051213 


4  THELMA. 

only  one  of  those  million  wonderful  effects  of  sky  and  sea 
which  are  common  in  Norway,  especially  on  the  Altenf  jord, 
whore,  though  beyond  the  Arctic  circle,  the  climate  in  sum- 
mer is  that  of  another  Italy,  and  the  landscape  a  living 
poem  fairer  than  the  visions  of  Endymion. 

There  was  one  solitary  watcher  of  the  splendid  spectacle. 
This  was  a  man  of  refined  features  and  aristocratic  appear- 
ance, who,  reclining  on  a  large  rug  of  skins  which  he  had 
thrown  down  on  the  shore  for  that  purpose,  was  gazing  at 
the  pageant  of  the  midnight  sun  and  all  its  stately  sur- 
roundings, with  an  earnest  and  rapt  expression  in  his  clear 
hazel  eyes. 

"Glorious!  beyond  all  expectation,  glorious!"  he  mur- 
mured half  aloud,  as  he  consulted  his  watch  and  saw  tha'. 
the  hands  marked  exactly  twelve  on  the  dial.  "  I  believe 
I'm  having  the  best  of  it,  after  all.  Even  if  those  fellows 
get  the  Eulalie  into  good  position  they  will  see  nothing 
finer  than  this/' 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  his  field-glass  and  swept  the  hori- 
zon in  search  of  a  vessel,  his  own  pleasure  yacht, — which 
had  taken  three  of  his  friends,  at  their  special  desire,  to  the 
opposite  island  of  Seiland, —  Seiland,  rising  in  weird  maj- 
esty three  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  boasting  as  its 
chief  glory  the  great  peak  of  Jedke,  the  most  northern 
glacier  in  all  the  wild  Norwegian  land.  There  was  no  sign 
of  a  returning  sail,  and  he  resumed  his  study  of  the  sump- 
tuous sky,  the  colors  of  which  were  now  deepening  and 
burning  with  increasing  lustre,  while  an  array  of  clouds  of 
the  deepest  purple  hue  swept  gorgeously  together  beneath 
the  sun  as  though  to  form  his  footstool. 

"  One  might  imagine  that  the  trump  of  the  Resurrection 
had  sounded,  and  that  all  this  aerial  pomp, — this  strange 
silence, — was  just  the  pause,  the  supreme  moment  before 
the  angels  descended,"  he  mused,  with  a  half-smile  at  hie 
own  fancy,  for  though  something  of  a  poet  at  heart,  he  was 
much  more  of  a  cynic.  He  was  too  deeply  imbued  with 
modern  fashionable  atheism  to  think  seriously  about  angels 
or  Resurrection  trumps,  but  there  was  a  certain  love  of 
mysticism  and  romance  in  his  nature,  which  not  even  his 
Oxford  experiences  and  the  chuly  dullness  of  English  ma- 
terialism had  been  able  to  eradicate.  And  there  was  some- 
thing impressive  in  the  sight  of  the  majestic  orb  holding 
such  imperial  revel  at  midnight, — something  almost  un- 
earthly in  the  light  and  life  of  the  heavens^  as  compared 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  5 

with  the  reverential  and  seemingly  worshipping  silence  of 
the  earth, — that,  for  a  few  moments,  awed  him  into  a  sense 
of  the  spiritual  and  unseen.  Mythical  passages  from  the 
poets  he  loved  came  into  his  memory,  and  stray  fragments 
of  old  songs  and  ballads  he  had  known  in  his  childhood  re- 
turned to  him  with  haunting  persistence.  It  was,  for  him, 
one  of  those  sudden  halts  in  life  which  we  all  experience, — 
an  instant, — when  time  and  the  world  seem  to  stand  still,  as 
though  to  permit  us  easy  breathing ;  a  brief  space, — in 
which  we  are  allowed  to  stop  and  wonder  awhile  at  the 
strange  unaccountable  force  within  us,  that  enables  us  to 
stand  with  such  calm,  smiling  audacity,  on  our  small  pin's 
point  of  the  present,  between  the  wide  dark  gaps  of  past 
and  future  ;  a  small  hush, — in  which  the  gigantic  engines 
of  the  universe  appear  to  revolve  no  more,  and  the  immor- 
tal Soul:  of  man  itself  is  subjected  and  over-ruled  by  su- 
preme and  eternal  Thought.  Drifting  away  on  those  deli- 
cate imperceptible  lines  that  lie  between  realit}r  and  dream- 
land, the  watcher  of  the  midnight  sun  gave  himself  up  to 
the  half  painful,  half  delicious  sense  of  being  drawn  in,  ab- 
sorbed, and  lost  in  infinite  imaginings,  when  the  intense 
stillness  around  him  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  voice 
singing,  a  full,  rich  contralto,  that  rang  through  the  air  with 
the  clearness  of  a  golden  bell.  The  sweet  liquid  notes  were 
those  of  an  old  Norwegian  mountain  melody,  one  of  those 
wildly  pathetic  folk-songs  that  seem  to  holdall  the  sorrow, 
wonder,  wistfulness,  and  indescribable  yearning  of  a  heart 
too  full  for  other  speech  than  music.  He  started  to  his  feet 
and  looked  around  him  for  the  singer.  There  was  no  one 
visible.  The  amber  streaks  in  the  sky  were  leaping  into 
crimson  flame;  the  Fjord  glowed  like  the  burning  lake  of 
Dante's  vision ;  one  solitary  sea-gull  winged  its  graceful, 
noiseless  flight  far  above,  its  white  pinions  shimmering  like 
jewels  as  it  crossed  the  radiance  of  the  heavens.  Other 
sign  of  animal  life  there  was  none.  Still  the  hidden  voice 
rippled  on  in  a  stream  of  melody,  and  the  listener  stood 
amazed  and  enchanted  at  the  roundness  and  distinctness  of 
every  note  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  unseen  vocalist. 

"  A  woman's  voice,"  he  thought ;  "  but  where  is  the 
woman  ? " 

Puzzled,  he  looked  to  the  right  and  left,  then  out  to  the 
shining  Fjord,  half  expecting  to  see  some  fisher-maiden 
rowing  along,  and  singing  as  she  rowed,  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  any  living  creature.  While  he  waited,  the  voice 


6  THELMA. 

suddenly  ceased,  and  the  song  was  replaced  by  the  sharp 
grating  of  a  keel  or.  the  beach.  Turning  in  the  direction 
of  this  sound,  he  perceived  a  boat  being  pushed  out  by  in- 
visible hands  towards  the  water's  edge  from  a  rocky  cave, 
that  jutted  upon  the  Fjord, and,  full  of  curiosity,  he  stepped 
towards  the  arched  entrance,  when, — all  suddenly  and  un- 
expectedly,— a  girl  sprang  out  from  the  dark  intev.:oi ,  and 
standing  erect  in  her  boat,  faced  the  intruder.  A  girl  of 
about  nineteen  she  seemed,  taller  than  most  women, — with  a 
magnificent  uncovered  mass  of  hair,  the  color  of  the  mid- 
night sunshine,  tumbled  over  her  shoulders,  and  flashing 
against  her  flushed  cheeks  and  dazzlingly  fair  skin.  Her 
deep  blue  eyes  had  an  astonished  and  certainly  indignant 
expression  in  them,  while  he,  utterly  imprepared  for  such 
a  vision  of  loveliness  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place, 
was  for  a  moment  taken  aback  and  at  a  loss  for  wordo. 
Recovering  his  habitual  self-possession  quickly,  howeve., 
he  raised  his  hat,  and,  pointing  to  the  boat,  which  was 
more  than  halfway  out  of  the  cavern,  said  simply — 

"  May  I  assist  you  ?  " 

She  was  silent,  eyeing  him  with  a  keen  glance  which  had 
something  in  it  of  disfavor  and  suspicion. 

"  I  suppose  she  doesn't  understand  English,"  bethought, 
"  and  I  can't  speak  a  word  of  Norwegian.  I  must  talk  by 
sigrs." 

And  forthwith  he  went  through  a  labored  pantomime  of 
gesture,  sufficiently  ludicrous  in  itself,  yet  at  the  same 
time  expressive  of  his  meaning.  The  girl  broke  into  a 
laugh — a  laugh  of  sweet  amusement  which  brought  a  thou- 
sand new  sparkles  "f  light  into  her  lovely  eyes. 

"  That  is  veij  well  done,"  she  observed  graciously,  speak- 
ing English  with  something  of  a  foreign  accent.  "  Even 
the  Lapps  would  understand  you,  and  they  are  very  stupid, 
poor  things  !  " 

Half  vexed  by  her  laughter,  and  feeling  that  he  was 
somehow  an  object  of  ridicule  to  this  tall,  bright-haired 
maiden,  he  ceased  his  pantomimic  gestures  abruptty  and 
stood  looking  at  her  with  a  slight  flush  of  embarrassment 
on  his  features. 

"  I  know  your  language,"  she  resumed  quietly,  after  a 
brief  pause,  in  which  she  had  apparently  considered  the 
stranger's  appearance  and  general  bearing.  "  It  was  rude 
of  me  not  to  have  answered  you  at  once.  You  can  help  me 
if  you  will.  The  keel  has  caught  among  the  pebbles,  but 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  7 

we  can  easily  move  it  between  us."  And,  jumping  lightly 
out  of  her  boat,  she  grasped  its  edge  firmly  with  her  strong 
white  hands,  exclaiming  gaily,  as  she  did  so,  "  Push  !  " 

Thus  adjured,  he  lost  no  time  in  complying  with  her  re- 
quest, and,  using  his  great  strength  and  muscular  force  to 
good  purpose,  the  light  little  craft  was  «oon  well  in  the 
water,  swaying  to  and  fro  as  though  with  impatience  to  be 
gone.  The  girl  sprang  to  her  seat,  discarding  his  eagerly 
proffered  assistance,  and,  taking  both  oars,  laid  them  in 
their  respective  rowlocks,  and  seemed  about  to  start,  when 
she  paused  and  asked  abruptly — 
"Are  you  a  sailor  ?  " 

He  smiled.    "  Not  I !    Do  I  remind  you  of  one  ?  " 
"  You  are  strong,  and  you  manage  a  boat  as  though  ycu 
were  accustomed  to  the  work.     Also  you  look  as  if  you  had 
been  at  sea.'' 

"  Rightly  guessed !  "  he  replied,  still  smiling ;  "  I  cer- 
tainly have  been  at  sea ;  I  have  been  coasting  all  about 
your  lovely  land.  My  yacht  went  across  to  Seiland  this 
afternoon." 

She  regarded  him  more  intently,  and  observed,  with  the 
critical  eye  of  a  woman,  the  refined  taste  displayed  in  his 
dress,  from  the  very  cut  of  his  loose  travelling  coat,  to  the 
luxurious  rug  of  fine  fox-shins,  that  lay  so  carelessly  cast  on 
the  shore  at  a  little  distance  from  him.  Then  she  gave  a 
gesture  of  hauteur  and  half-contempt. 

"  You  have  a  yacht  ?  Oh !  then  you  are  a  gentleman. 
You  do  nothing  for  your  living  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  indeed  !  "  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with 
a  mingled  air  of  weariness  and  self-pity,  "  except  one  thing 
—I  live  !  " 

"  Is  that  hard  work  ?  "  she  inquired  wonderingly. 
"  Very." 

They  were  silent  then,  and  the  girl's  face  grew  serious  aS 
she  rested  on  her  oars,  and  still  surveyed  him  with  a  straight, 
candid  gaze,  that,  though  earnest  and  penetrating,  had 
nothing  of  boldness  in  it.  It  was  the  look  of  one  in  whose 
past  there  were  no  secrets — the  look  of  a  child  who  is  sat- 
isfied with  the  present  and  takes  no  thought  for  the  future. 
Few  women  look  so  after  they  have  entered  their  teens. 
Social  artifice,  affectation,  and  the  insatiate  vanity  that 
modern  life  encourages  in  the  feminine  nature — all  these 
things  soon  do  away  with  the  pellucid  clearness  and  stead- 
fastness of  the  eye — the  beautiful,  true,  untamed  expression, 


8  THELMA. 

which,  though  so  rare,  is,  when  seen  infinitely  more  be« 
witching  than  all  the  bright  arrows  of  coquetry  and  spark- 
ling invitation  that  flash  from  the  glances  of  well-bred  so- 
ciety dames,  who  have  taken  care  to  educate  their  eyes  if 
not  their  hearts.  This  girl  was  evidently  not  trained  prop- 
erly ;  had  she  been  so,  she  would  have  dropped  a  curtain 
over  those  wide,  bright  windows  of  her  soul ;  she  would 
have  remembered  that  she  was  alone  with  a  strange  man  at 
midnight — at  midnight,  though  the  sun  shone ;  she  would 
have  simpered  and  feigned  embarrassment,  even  if  she 
could  not  feel  it.  As  it  happened,  she  did  nothing  of  the 
kind,  only  her  expression  softened  and  became  more  wistful 
and  earnest,  and  when  she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  mel- 
low with  a  suave  gentleuess,  that  had  something  in  it  of 
compassion. 

"  If  you  do  not  love  life  itself,'7  she  said,  "  you  love  the 
beautiful  things  of  life,  do  you  not  ?  See  yonder  !  There 
is  what  we  call  the  meeting  of  night  and  morning.  One  is 
glad  to  be  alive  at  such  a  moment.  Look  quickly !  The 
light  soon  fades." 

She  pointed  towards  the  east.  Her  companion  gazed  in 
that  direction,  and  uttered  an  exclamation, — almost  a  shout, 
— of  wonder  and  admiration.  Within  the  space  of  the  past 
few  minutes  the  aspect  of  the  heavens  had  completely 
changed.  The  burning  scarlet  and  violet  hues  had  all 
melted  into  a  transparent  yet  brilliant  shade  of  pale  mauve, 
— as  delicate  as  the  inner  tint  of  a  lilac  blossom, — and 
across  this  stretched  two  wing-shaped  gossamer  clouds  of 
wateiy  green,  fringed  with  soft  primrose.  Between  these 
cloud-wings,  as  opaline  in  lustre  as  those  of  a  dragon-fl}*, 
the  face  of  the  sun  shone  like  a  shield  of  polished  gold, 
while  his  rays,  piercing  spear-like  through  the  varied  tints 
of  emerald,  brought  an  unearthly  radiance  over  the  land- 
scape— a  lustre  as  though  the  moon  were,  in  some  strange 
way,  battling  with  the  sun  for  mastery  over  the  visible  un- 
iverse, though,  looking  southward,  she  could  dimly  be  per- 
ceived, the  ghost  of  herself — a  poor,  fainting,  pallid  god- 
dess,— a  perishing  Diana. 

Bringing  his  glance  down  from  the  skies,  the  young  man 
turned  it  to  the  face  of  the  maiden  near  him,  and  was 
startled  at  her  marvellous  beauty — beauty  now  heightened 
by  the  effect  of  the  changeful  colors  that  played  around 
her.  The  very  boat  in  which  she  sat  glittered  with  a 
bronze-like,  metallic  brightness  as  it  heaved  gently  to  anc 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  9 

fro  on  the  silvery  green  water ;  the  midnight  sunshine 
bathed  the  falling  glory  of  her  long  hair,  till  each  thick 
tress,  each  clustering  curl,  appeared  to  em:*,  an  amber  spark 
of  light.  The  strange,  weird  effect  of  the  sky  seemed  to 
have  stolen  into  her  eyes,  making  them  shine  with  witch- 
like  brilliancy, — the  varied  radiance  flashing  about  her 
brought  into  strong  relief  the  pureness  of  her  profile,  draw- 
ing as  with  a  fine  pencil  the  outlines  of  her  noble  forehead, 
sweet  mouth,  and  rounded  chin.  It  touched  the  scarlet  of 
her  bodice,  and  brightened  the  quaint  old  silver  clasps  she 
wore  at  her  waist  and  throat,  till  she  seemerl  DO  longer  an 
earthly  being,  but  more  like  some  fair  wondering  sprite 
from  the  legendary  Norse  kingdom  of  Alfheim .  the  "  abode 
of  the  Luminous  Genii." 

She  was  gazing  upwards, — heavenwards, — and  her  ex- 
pression was  one  of  rapt  and  almost  devotional  intensity. 
Thus  she  remained  for  some  moments,  motionless  as  the 
picture  of  an  expectant  angel  painted  by  Rafl'aele  or  Cor- 
reggio;  then  reluctantly  and  with  a  deep  sigh  she  turned 
her  eyes  towards  earth  again.  In  so  doing  she  met  the 
fixed  and  too  visibly  admiring  gaze  of  her  companion.  She 
started,  and  a  wave  of  vivid  color  flushed  her  cheeks. 
Quickly  recovering  her  serenity,  however,  she  saluted  him 
slightly,  and,  moving  her  oars  in  unison,  was  on  the  point 
of  departure. 

Stirred  by  an  impulse  he  could  not  resist,  he  laid  one 
hand  detainingly  on  the  rim  of  her  boat. 

"  Are  you  going  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  in  some  little  surprise  and 
smiled. 

"  Going  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Why,  yes.  I  shall  be  late  in 
getting  home  as  it  is." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  he  said  eagerly,  feeling  that  he  could 
not  let  this  beautiful  creature  leave  him  as  utterly  as  a 
midsummer  night's  dream  without  some  clue  as  to  her 
origin  and  destination.  "  Will  you  not  tell  me  your  name  ? " 

She  drew  herself  erect  with  a  look  of  indignation. 

"  Sir,  I  do  not  know  you.  The  maidens  of  Norway  do 
not  give  their  names  to  strangers." 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  replied,  somewhat  abashed.  "  I  mean 
no  offense.  We  have  watched  the  midnight  sun  together, 
and — anfl — I  thought — 

fle  paused,  feeling  very  foolish,  and  unable  to  conclude 
his  sentence. 


18  TffELMA. 

She  looked  at  him  demurely  from  under  hei  long,  curling 
iaahet. 

:'  You  will  often  find  a  peasant  girl  on  the  shores  of  the 
Altenfjord  watching  the  midnight  sun  at  the  same  time  as 
yourself,"  she  said,  and  there  was  a  suspicion  of  laughter  in 
her  voice.  "  It  is  not  unusual.  It  is  not  even  necessary 
that  you  should  remember  so  little  a  thing." 

"  Necessary  or  not,  I  shall  never  forget  it,"  he  said  with 
sudden  impetuosity.  "  You  are  no  peasant !  Come ;  if  I 
give  you  my  name  will  you  still  deny  me  3-011  rs  ?  " 

Her  delicate  brows  drew  together  in  a  frown  of  haughty 
and  decided  refusal.  "  No  names  please  my  ears  save  those 
that  are  familiar,"  she  said,  with  intense  coldness.  "  We 
shall  not  meet  again.  Farewell  1 " 

And  without  further  word  or  look,  she  leaned  gracefully 
to  the  oars,  and  pulling  with  a  long,  steady,  resolute  stroke, 
the  little  boat  darted  away  as  lightly  and  swiftly  as  a  skim- 
ming swallow  out  on  the  shimmering  water.  He  stood 
gazing  after  it  till  it  became  a  distant  speck  sparkling  like 
a  diamond  in  the  light  of  sky  and  wave,  and  when  he  could 
no  more  watch  it  with  unassisted  eyes,  he  took  up  his  field 
glass  and  followed  its  course  attentively.  He  saw  it  cutting 
along  as  straightly  as  an  arrow,  then  suddenly  it  dipped 
round  to  the  westward,  apparently  making  straight  for 
some  shelving  rocks,  that  projected  far  into  the  Fjordo  It 
reached  them ;  it  grew  less  and  less — it  disappeared.  At 
the  same  time  the  lustre  of  the  heavens  gave  way  to  a  pale 
pearl-like  uniform  grey  tint,  that  stretched  far  and  wide, 
folding  up  as  in  a  mantle  all  the  regal  luxury  of  the  Sun- 
king's  palace.  The  subtle  odor  and  delicate  chill  of  the 
coming  dawn  stole  freshly  across  the  water.  A  light  haze 
rose  and  obscured  the  opposite  islands.  Something  of  the 
tender  melancholy  of  autumn,  though  it  was  late  June, 
toned  down  the  aspect  of  the  before  brilliant  landscape.  A 
lark  rose  swiftly  from  its  nest  in  an  adjacent  meadow,  arfi 
soaring  higher  and  higher,  poured  from  its  tiny  tliio.n  a 
cascade  of  delicious  melody.  The  midnight  sun  no  longer 
shone  at  midnight ;  his  face  smiled  with  a  sobered  serenit.v 
through  the  faint  early  mists  of  approaching  morning^ 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  11 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Viens  done — je  te  cliauterai  des  chansons  quo  les  esprits  des  cim- 
etidres  m'ont  apprises! " 

MATUKIN. 

"  BAFFLED  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  slight  vexed  laugh,  as 
the  boat  vanished  from  his  sight.  "  By  a  woman,  too ! 
Who  would  have  thought  it  ?  " 

Who  would  have  thought  it,  indeed  1  Sir  Philip  Bruce- 
Errington,  Baronet,  the  wealthy  and  desirable  parti  for 
whom  man}'  match-making  mothers  had  stood  knee-deep  in 
the  chilly  though  sparkling  waters  of  society,  ardently 
plying  rod  and  line  with  patient  persistence,  vainly  hoping 
to  secure  him  as  a  husband  for  one  of  their  highly  proper 
and  passionless  daughters, — he,  the  admired,  long-sought- 
after  "  eligible,"  was  suddenly  rebuffed,  flouted — by  whom? 
A  stray  princess,  or  a  peasant.  He  vaguely  wondered,  as 
he  lit  a  cigar  and  strolled  up  and  down  on  the  shore,  medi- 
tating, with  a  puzzled,  almost  annoyed  expression  on  his 
handsome  features.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  slights  of 
any  kind,  however  trifling  ;  his  position  being  commanding 
and  enviable  enough  to  attract  flattery  and  friendship  from 
most  people.  He  was  the  only  son  of  a  baronet  as  re- 
nowned for  eccentricity  as  for  wealth.  He  had  been  the 
spoilt  darling  of  his  mother ;  and  now,  both  his  parents 
being  dead,  he  was  alone  in  the  world,  heir  to  his  father's 
revenues,  and  entire  master  of  his  own  actions.  And  as 
part  of  the  penalty  he  had  to  pay  for  being  rich  and  good- 
looking  to  boot,  he  was  so  much  run  after  by  women  that 
he  found  it  hard  to  understand  the  haughty  indifference 
with  which  he  had  just  been  treated  by  one  of  the  most 
fair,  if  not  the  fairest  of  her  sex.  He  was  piqued,  and  his 
amour  propre  was  wounded. 

"  I'm  sure  my  question  was  harmless  enough,"  he 
mused,  half  crossly.  "  She  might  have  answered  it." 

He  glanced  out  impatiently  over  the  Fjord.  There  was 
no  sign  of  his  returning  yacht  as  yet. 

'•  What  a  time  those  fellows  are  1  "  he  said  to  himself. 
"If  the  pilot  were  not  on  board,  I  should  begin  to  think 
they  had  run  the  Eulalie  aground." 


12  THELMA. 

He  finished  his  cigar  and  threw  the  end  of  it  into  the 
water ;  then  he  stood  moodily  watching  the  ripples  as  they 
rolled  softly  up  and  caressed  the  shining  brown  shore  at  his 
feet,  thinking  all  the  while  of  that  strange  girl,  so  wonder- 
fully lovety  in  face  and  form,  so  graceful  and  proud  of  bear- 
ing, with  her  great  blue  eyes  and  masses  of  dusky  gold 
hair. 

His  meeting  with  her  was  a  sort  of  adventure  in  its  way 
— the  first  of  the  kind  he  had  had  for  some  time.  He  was 
subject  to  fits  of  weariness  or  caprice,  and  it  was  in  one  of 
these  that  he  had  suddenly  left  London  in  the  height  of  the 
season,  and  had  started  for  Norway  on  a  yachting  cruise 
with  three  chosen  companions,  one  of  whom,  George  Lori- 
mer,  once  an  Oxford  fellow-student,  was  now  his  "  chum  " 
— the  Pythias  to  his  Damon,  the  fidus  Achates  of  his  closest 
confidence.  Through  the  unexpected  wakening  up  of 
energy  in  the  latter  young  gentleman,  who  was  usually  of 
a  most  sleepy  and  indolent  disposition,  he  happened  to  be 
quite  alone  on  this  particular  occasion,  though,  as  a  general 
rule,  he  was  accompanied  in  his  rambles  by  one  if  not  all 
three  of  his  friends.  Utter  solitude  was  with  him  a  rare 
occurrence,  and  his  present  experience  of  it  had  chanced  in 
this  wise.  Lorimer  the  languid,  Lorimer  the  laz}',  Lorimer 
who  had  remained  blandly  unmoved  and  drowsy  through  all 
the  magnificent  panorama  of  the  Norwegian  coast,  includ- 
ing the  Sogne  Fjord  and  the  toppling  peaks  of  the  Justediil 
glaciers ;  Lorimer  who  had  slept  peacefully  in  a  hammock 
on  deck,  even  while  the  yacht  was  passing  under  the  loom- 
ing splendors  of  Melsnipa ;  Lorimer,  now  that  he  had 
arrived  at  the  Alten  Fjord,  then  at  its  loveliest  in  the  full 
glory  of  the  continuous  sunshine,  developed  a  new  turn  of 
mind,  and  began  to  show  sudden  and  abnormal  interest  in 
the  scenery.  In  this  humor  he  expressed  his  desire  to 
*  take  a  sight  "  of  the  midnight  sun  from  the  island  of 
Seiland,  and  also  declared  his  resolve  to  try  the  nearly  im- 
possible ascent  of  the  great  Jedke  glacier. 

Errington  laughed  at  the  idea.  "  Don't  tell  me,"  he  said, 
"  that  you  are  going  in  for  climbing.  And  do  you  suppose 
I  believe  that  you  are  interested — you  of  all  people — in  the 
heavenly  bodies  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Lorimer,  with  a  candid  smile.  "  I'm 
not  in  the  least  interested  in  earthly  bodies,  except  my  own. 
The  sun's  a  jolly  fellow.  I  sympathize  with  him  in  his 
present  condition-  He's  in  his  cups — that's  what's  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  13 

matter — and  he  can't  be  persuaded  to  go  to  bed.  I  know 
his  feelings  perfectly  ;  and  I  want  to  survey  his  gloriously 
inebriated  face  from  another  point  of  view.  Don't  laugh, 
Phil ;  I'm  in  earnest !  And  I  really  have  quite  a  curiosity 
to  try  my  skill  in  amateur  mountaineering.  Jedke's  the 
very  place  for  a  first  effort.  It  offers  difficulties,  and  " — 
this  with  a  slight  yawn — "  I  like  to  surmount  difficulties  ; 
it's  rather  amusing." 

His  mind  was  so  evidently  set  upon  the  excursion,  that 
Sir  Philip  made  no  attempt  to  dissuade  him  from  it,  but 
excused  himself  from  accompanying  the  party  on  the  plea 
that  he  wanted  to  finish  a  sketch  he  had  recently  begun.  So 
that  when  the  Eulalie  got  up  her  steam,  weighed  anchor, 
and  swept  gracefully  away  towards  the  coast  of  the  adjacent 
islands,  her  owner  was  left,  at  his  desire,  to  the  seclusion  of 
a  quiet  nook  on  the  shore  of  the  Altenfjord,  where  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  bold  and  vivid  picture  of  the  scene  be- 
fore him.  The  colors  of  the  sky  had,  however,  defied  his 
palette,  and  after  one  or  two  futile  attempts  to  transfer  to  his 
canvas  a  few  of  the  gorgeous  tints  that  illumed  the  land- 
scape, he  gave  up  the  task  in  despair,  and  resigned  himself 
to  the  dolce  far  niente  of  absolute  enjoyment.  From  his 
half  pleasing,  half  melancholy  reverie  the  voice  of  the  un- 
known maiden  had  startled  him,  and  now, — now  she  had 
left  him  to  resume  it  if  he  chose, — left  him,  in  chill  dis- 
pleasure- with  a  cold  yet  brilliant  flash  of  something  like 
scorn  in  her  wonderful  e}res. 

Since  her  departure  the  scenery,  in  some  unaccountable 
way,  seemed  less  attractive  to  him,  the  songs  of  the  birds, 
who  were  all  awake,  fell  on  inattentive  ears  ;  he  was  haunted 
by  her  face  and  voice,  and  he  was,  moreover,  a  little  out  of 
humor  with  himself  for  having  been  such  a  blunderer  as  to 
give  her  offense,  and  thus  leave  an  unfavorable  impression 
on  her  mind. 

"  I  suppose  I  was  rude,"  he  considered  after  a  while. 
"  She  seemed  to  think  so,  at  any  rate.  By  Jove  !  what  a 
crushing  look  she  gave  me  1  A  peasant  ?  Not  she  1  If 
she  had  said  she  was  an  empress  I  shouldn't  have  been 
much  surprised.  But  a  mere  common  peasant,  with  that 
regal  figure  and  those  white  hands  I  I  don't  believe  it. 
Perhaps  our  pilot,  Valdemar,  knows  who  she  is ;  I  must 
ask  him." 

All  at  once  he  bethought  himself  of  the  cave  whence  she 
emerged.  It  was  close  at  hand— a  natural  grotto, 


14  THELMA. 

arched  and  apparently  lofty.  He  resolved  to  explore  it. 
Glancing  at  his  watch  he  saw  it  was  not  yet  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  yet  the  voice  of  the  cuckoo  called  shrilly  from 
the  neighboring  hills,  and  a  circling  group  of  swallows  flit- 
ted around  him,  their  lovely  wings  glistening  like  jewels  in 
the  warm  light  of  the  ever-wakeful  sun.  Going  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  cave,  he  looked  in.  It  was  formed  of  rough 
rock,  hewn  out  by  the  silent  work  of  the  water,  and  its  floor 
was  strewn  thick  with  loose  pebbles  and  polished  stones.  En- 
tering it,  he  was  able  to  walk  upright  for  some  few  paces,  then 
suddenly  it  seemed  to  shrink  in  size  and  to  become  darker. 
The  light  from  the  opening  gradually  narrowed  into  a  slen- 
der stream  too  small  for  him  to  see  clearly  where  he  was 
going,  thereupon  he  struck  a  fusee.  At  first  he  could  ob- 
serve no  sign  of  human  habitation,  not  even  a  rope,  or 
chain,  or  hook,  to  intimate  that  it  was  a  customary  shelter 
for  a  boat.  The  fusee  went  out  quickly,  and  he  lit  another. 
Looking  more  carefully  and  closely  about  him,  he  perceived 
on  a  projecting  shelf  of  rock,  a  small  antique  lamp,  Etrus- 
can in  shape,  made  of  iron  and  wrought  with  curious  let- 
ters. There  was  oil  in  it,  and  a  half-burnt  wick  ;  it  had 
evidently  been  recently  used.  He  availed  himself  at  once 
of  this  useful  adjunct  to  his  explorations,  and  lighting  it, 
was  able  by  the  clear  and  steady  flame  it  emitted,  to  see 
everything  very  distinctly.  Right  before  him  was  an  un- 
even flight  of  steps  leading  down  to  a  closed  door. 

He  paused  and  listened  attentively.  There  was  no  sound 
but  the  slow  lapping  of  the  water  near  the  entrance ;  within, 
the  thickness  of  the  cavern  walls  shut  out  the  gay  carolling 
of  the  birds,  and  all  the  cheerful  noises  of  awakening  na- 
ture. Silence,  chillness,  and  partial  obscurity  are  depress- 
ing influences,  and  the  warm  blood  flowing  through  his 
veins,  ran  a  trifle  more  slowly  and  coldly  as  he  felt  the  sort 
of  uncomfortable  eerie  sensation  which  is  experienced  by 
the  jolliest  and  most  careless  traveller,  when  he  first  goes 
down  to  the  catacombs  in  Rome.  A  sort  of  damp,  earthy 
shudder  creeps  through  the  system,  and  a  dreary  feeling  of 
general  hopelessness  benumbs  the  faculties  ;  a  morbid  state 
of  body  and  mind  which  is  only  to  be  remedied  by  a  speedy 
return  to  the  warm  sunlight,  and  a  draught  GI'  generonn 
wine. 

Sir  Philip,  lio-rev.M,  Held  the  antique  lamp  aloft,  and  de- 
scended the  clumsy  steps  cautiously,  counting  twenty  steps 
in  all,  at  the  bottom  of  which  he  found  himself  face  to  face 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  16 

with  the  closed  door.  It  was  made  of  hard  wood,  so  hard 
as  to  be  almost  like  iron.  It  was  black  with  age,  and  cov- 
ered with'  quaint  carvings  and  inscriptions  ;  but  in  the  mid- 
dle, standing  out  in  bold  relief  among  the  numbciless 
Runic  figures  and  devices,  was  written  in  large  well-cut  let- 
ters the  word  — 


"  By  Jove  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have  it  !  The  girl's  name, 
of  course  1  This  is  some  private  retreat  of  hers,  I  suppose, 
—  a  kind  of  boudoir  like  my  Lady  Winsleigh's,  only  with 
rather  a  difference." 

And  he  laughed  aloud,  thinking  of  the  dainty  gold-satin 
hangings  of  a  certain  room  in  a  certain  great  mansion  in 
Park  Lane,  where  an  aristocratic  and  handsome  lady-leader 
of  fashion  had  as  nearly  made  love  to  him  as  it  was  possi- 
ble for  her  to  do  without  losing  her  social  dignity. 

His  laugh  was  echoed  back  with  a  weird  and  hollow 
sound,  as  though  a  hidden  demon  of  the  cave  were  mocking 
him,  a  demon  whose  merriment  was  intense  but  also  horri- 
ble. He  heard  the  unpleasant  jeering  repetition  with  a  kind 
of  careless  admiration. 

"  That  echo  would  make  a  fortune  in  Faust,  if  it  could  be 
persuaded  to  back  up  Mephistopheles  with  that  truly  fiend- 
ish ''Haha!'1"  he  said,  resuming  his  examination  of  the 
name  on  the  door.  Then  an  odd  fancy  seized  him,  and  he 
called  loudly  — 

"  Thelma  !  " 

"  Thelma  !  "  shouted  the  echo. 

"  Is  that  her  name  ?  " 

"  Her  name  !  "  replied  the  echo. 

il  I  thought  so  !  "  And  Philip  laughed  again,  while  the 
echo  laughed  wildly  in  answer.  "  Just  the  sort  of  name  to 
etiit  a  Norwegian  nymph  or  goddess.  Thelma  is  quaint 
and  appropriate,  and  as  far  as  I  can  remember  there's  no 
rhyme  to  it  in  the  English  language.  Thelma  !  "  And  he 
lingered  on  the  pronunciation  of  the  strange  word  with  a 
curious  sensation  of  pleasure.  "  There  is  something  mys- 
teriously suggestive  about  the  sound  of  it  ;  like  a  chord  of 
music  played  softly  in  the  distance.  Now,  can  I  get  through 
this  door,  I  wonder  ?  " 

He  pushed  it  gently.  It  yielded  very  slightty,  and  he 
tried  again  and  yet  again.  Finally,  he  put  down  the  lamp 
and  set  his  shoulder  against  the  wooden  barrier  with  all  his 


16  THELMA. 

force.  A  dull  creaking  sound  rewarded  his  efforts,  and 
inch  by  inch  the  huge  door  opened  into  what  at  first  ap- 
peared immeasurable  darkness.  Holding  up  the  light  he 
looked  in,  and  uttered  a  smothered  exclamation.  A  sudden 
gust  of  wind  rushed  from  the  sea  through  the  passage  and 
extinguished  the  lamp,  leaving  him  in  profound  gloom. 
Nothing  daunted  he  sought  his  fusee  case;  there  was  just 
one  left  in  it.  This  he  hastily  struck,  and  shielding  the 
glow  carefully  with  one  hand,  relit  his  lamp,  and  stepped 
boldly  into  the  mysterious  grotto. 

The  murmur  of  the  wind  and  waves,  like  spirit-voices  in 
unison,  followed  him  as  he  entered.  He  found  himself  in 
a  spacious  winding  corridor,  that  had  evidently  been  hol- 
lowed out  in  the  rocks  and  fashioned  by  human  hands.  Its 
construction  was  after  the  ancient  Gothic  method ;  but  the 
wonder  of  the  place  consisted  in  the  walls,  which  were  en- 
tirely covered  with  shells, — shells  of  every  shape  and  hue, — 
some  delicate  as  rose-leaves,  some  rough  and  prickly ,  others 
polished  as  ivor}r,  some  gleaming  with  a  thousand  irrides- 
cent  colors,  others  pure  white  as  the  foam  on  high  billows. 
Many  of  them  were  turned  artistically  in  such  a  position  as 
to  show  their  inner  sides  glistening  with  soft  tints  like  the 
shades  of  fine  silk  or  satin, — others  glittered  with  the  opa- 
line sheen  of  mother-o'-pearl.  All  were  arranged  in  ex- 
quisite patterns,  evidently  copied  from  fixed  mathematical 
designs, — there  were  stars,  crescents,  roses,  sunflowers, 
hearts,  crossed  daggers,  ships  and  implements  of  war,  all 
faithfully  depicted  with  extraordinary  neatness  and  care, 
as  though  each  particular  emblem  had  served  some  special 
purpose. 

Sir  Philip  walked  along  very  slowly,  delighted  with  his 
discovery,  and, — pausing  to  examine  each  panel  as  he 
passed, — amused  himself  with  speculations  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  this  beautiful  cavern,  so  fancifully  3ret  skillfully 
decorated. 

"  Some  old  place  of  worship,  I  suppose,"  he  thought. 
"  There  must  be  many  such  hidden  in  diffe rents  parts  of 
Norway.  It  has  nothing  tc  do  with  the  Christian  faith, 
for  among  all  these  devices  I  don't  perceive  a  single  cross." 

He  was  right.  There  were  on  crosses ;  but  there  were 
many  designs  of  the  sun — the  sun  rising,  the  sun  setting, 
the  sun  in  full  glory,  with  all  his  ra}rs  embroiderel  round 
him  in  tiny  shells,  some  of  them  no  bigger  than  a  pin's 
head. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  17 

What  a  waste  of  time  and  labor,"  he  mused.  "  Who 
would  undertake  such  a  thing  nowadays  ?  Fancy  the  pa- 
tienc-e  and  delicacy  of  finger  required  to  fit  all  these 
shells  in  their  places !  and  they  are  embedded  in  strong 
mortar  too,  as  if  the  work  were  meant  to  be  indestructi- 
ble." 

Full  of  pleased  interest,  he  pursued  his  way,  winding  in 
and  out  through  different  arches,  all  more  or  less  richly 
ornamented,  till  he  came  to  a  tall,  round  column,  which 
seemingly  supported  the  whole  gallery,  for  all  the  arches 
converged  towards  it.  It  was  garlanded  from  top  to  bottom 
with  their  roses  and  their  leaves,  all  worked  in  pink  and 
lilac  shells,  interspersed  with  small  pieces  of  shining  amber 
and  polished  malachite.  The  flicker  of  the  lamp  he  carried, 
made  it  glisten  like  a  mass  of  jewel-work,  and,  absorbed  in 
his  close  examination  of  this  unique  specimen  of  ancient 
art,  Sir  Philip  did  not  at  once  perceive  that  another  light 
beside  his  own  glimmered  from  out  the  furthest  archway  a 
little  beyond  him, — an  opening  that  led  into  some  recess 
he  had  not  as  yet  explored.  A  peculiar  lustre  sparkling 
on  one  side  of  the  shell-work  however,  at  last  attracted  his 
attention,  and,  glancing  up  quickly,  he  saw,  to  his  surprise^ 
the  reflection  of  a  strange  radiance,  rosily  tinted  and 
brilliant. 

Turning  in  its  direction,  he  paused,  irresolute.  Could 
there  be  some  one  living  in  that  furthest  chamber  to  which 
the  long  passage  he  had  followed  evidently  led  ?  some  one 
who  would  perhaps  resent  his  intrusion  as  an  imperti- 
nence? some  eccentric  artist  or  hermit  who  had  made  the 
cave  his  home  ?  Or  was  it  perhaps  a  refuge  for  smugglers? 
He  listened  anxiously.  There  was  no  sound.  He  waited  a 
minute  or  two,  then  boldly  advanced,  determined  to  solve 
the  mystery. 

This  last  archway  was  lower  than  any  of  those  he  had 
passed  through,  and  he  was  forced  to  take  off  his  hat  and 
stoop  as  he  went  under  it.  When  he  raised  his  head  he  re- 
mained uncovered,  for  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  place  was 
sacred.  He  was  in  the  presence,  not  of  Life,  but  Death. 
The  chamber  in  which  he  stood  was  square  in  form,  and 
more  richly  ornamented  with  shell-designs  than  any  other 
portion  of  the  grotto  he  had  seen,  and  facing  the  east  was 
an  altar  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock  and  studded  thickly 
with  amber,  malachite  and  mother-o'-pearl.  It  was  covered 
with  the  incomprehensible  emblems  of  a  bygone  creed 
3 


18  THELMA. 

worked  in  most  exquisite  shell-patterns,  but  on  it,  —  as 
though  in  solemn  protest  against  the  past,  —  stood  a  crucifix 
of  ebony  and  carved  ivory,  before  which  burned  steadily  a 
red  lamp. 

The  meaning  of  the  n^sterious  light  was  thus  explained, 
but  what  chiefly  interested  Errington  was  the  central  object 
of  the  place,  —  a  coffin,  —  of  rather  a  plain  granite  sarcopha- 
gus which  was  placed  on  the  floor  lying  from  north  to  south. 
Upon  it,  —  in  strange  contrast  to  the  sombre  coldness  of  the 
stcne,  —  reposed  a  large  wreath  of  poppies  freshly  gathered. 
The  vivid  scarlet  of  the  flowers,  the  gleam  of  the  shining 
shells  on  the  walls,  the  mournful  figure  of  the  ivory  Christ 
stretched  on  the  cross  among  all  those  pagan  emblems,  — 
the  intense  silence  bioken  only  by  the  slow  drip,  drip  of 
water  trickling  somewhere  behind  the  cavern,  —  and  more 
than  these  outward  things,  —  his  own  impressive  conviction 
that  he  was  with  the  imperial  Dead  —  imperial  because  past 
the  sway  of  empire  —  all  made  a  powerful  impression  on  his 
mind.  Overcoming  by  degrees  his  first  sensations  of  awe, 
he  approached  the  sarcophagus  and  examined  it.  It  was 
solidty  closed  and  mortared  all  round,  so  that  it  might  have 
been  one  compact  coffin-shaped  block  of  stone  so  far  as  its 
outward  appearance  testified.  Stooping  more  closely,  how- 
ever, to  look  at  the  brilliant  poppy-wreath,  he  started  back 
with  a  slight  exclamation.  Cut  deeply  in  the  hard  granite 
he  read  for  the  second  time  that  odd  name  — 


It  belonged  to  some  one  dead,  then  —  not  to  the  lovely 
living  woman  who  had  so  lately  confronted  him  in  the  burn- 
ing glow  of  the  midnight  sun  ?  He  felt  disma3'ed  at  his 
unthinking  precipitation,  —  he  had,  in  his  fancy,  actually 
associated  Tier,  so  full  of  radiant  health  and  beauty,  with 
what  was  probably  a  mouldering  corpse  in  that  hermetically 
sealed  tenement  of  stone  !  This  idea  was  unpleasant,  and 
jarred  upon  his  feelings.  Surely  she,  that  golden-haired 
nymph  of  the  Fjord,  had  nothing  to  do  with  death  !  He 
had  evidently  found  his  way  into  some  ancient  tomb. 
"  Thelma  "  might  be  the  name  or  title  of  some  long-de- 
parted queen  or  princess  of  Norway,  yet,  if  so,  how  came 
tne  crucifix  there,  —  the  red  lamp,  the  flowers  ? 

He  lingered,  looking  curiously  about  him,  as  if  he  fancied 
the  shell-embroidered  walls  might  whisper  some  answer  to 
his  thoughts.  The  silence  offered  no  suggestions.  The 


1-ffE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  19 

plaintive  figure  of  the  tortured  Christ  suspended  on  the 
cross  maintained  an  immovable  watch  over  all  things,  and 
there  was  a  subtle,  faint  odor  floating  about  as  of  crushed 
spices  or  herbs.  While  he  still  stood  there  absorbed  in  per- 
plexed conjectures,  he  became  oppressed  by  want  of  air. 
The  red  hue  of  the  poppy-wreath  mingled  with  the  softer 
glow  of  the  lamp  on  the  altar, — the  moist  glitter  of  the 
shells  and  polished  pebbles,  seemed  to  dazzle  and  confuse 
his  eyes.  He  felt  dizzy  and  faint — and  hastily  made  his 
way  out  of  that  close  death-chamber  into  the  passage,  where 
he  leaned  for  a  few  minutes  against  the  great  central  col- 
umn to  recover  himself.  A  brisk  breath  of  wind  from  the 
Fjord  came  careering  through  the  gallery,  and  blew  coldly 
upon  his  forehead.  Refreshed  by  it,  he  rapidly  overcame 
the  sensation  of  giddiness,  and  began  to  retrace  his  steps 
through  the  winding  arches,  thinking  with  some  satisfac- 
tion as  he  went,  what  a  romantic  incident  he  would  have  to 
relate  to  Lorimer  and  his  other  friends,  when  a  sudden  glare 
of  light  illumined  the  passage,  and  he  was  brought  to  an 
abrupt  standstill  by  the  sound  of  a  wild  "  Halloo  I  "  The 
light  vanished ;  it  reappeared.  It  vanished  again,  and 
again  appeared,  flinging  a  strong  flare  upon  the  shell- 
worked  walls  as  it  approached.  Again  the  fierce  "  Halloo !  " 
resounded  through  the  hollow  cavities  of  the  subterranean 
temple,  and  he  remained  motionless,  waiting  for  an  expla- 
nation of  this  unlooked-for  turn  to  the  events  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

He  had  plenty  of  physical  courage,  and  the  idea  of  any 
addition  to  his  adventure  rather  pleased  him  than  other- 
wise. Still,  with  all  his  bravery,  he  recoiled  a  little  when 
he  lirst  caught  sight  of  the  extraordinary  being  that 
emerged  from  the  darkness — a  wild,  distorted  figure  that 
ran  towards  him  with  its  head  downwards,  bearing  aloft  in 
one  skinny  hand  a  smoking  pine-torch,  from  which  the 
sparks  flew  like  so  many  fireflies.  This  uncanny  person- 
age, wearing  the  semblance  of  man,  came  within  two  paces 
of  Errington  before  perceiving  him  ;  then,  stopping  short  in 
his  headlong  career,  the  creature  flourished  his  torch  and 
uttered  a  defiant  yell. 

Philip  surveyed  him  coolly  and  without  alarm,  though  so 
weird  an  object  might  well  have  aroused  a  pardonable  dis- 
trust, and  even  timidity.  He  saw  a  misshapen  dwarf,  not 
quite  four  feet  high,  with  large,  ungainly  limbs  out  of  all 
proportion  to  his  head,  which  was  small  and  compact.  His 


20  THELMA. 

features  were  of  almost  feminine  fineness,  and  from  undei 
his  shaggy  brows  gleamed  a  restless  pair  of  large,  full,  wild 
blue  eyes.  His  thick,  rough  flaxen  hair  was  long  and 
curly,  and  hung  in  disordered  prolusion  over  his  deformed 
shoulders.  His  dress  was  of  reindeer  skin,  very  fancifully 
cut,  and  ornamented  with  beads  of  different  colors, — and 
twisted  about  him  as  though  in  an  effort  to  be  artistic,  was 
a  long  strip  of  bright  scarlet  woollen  material,  which  showed 
up  the  extreme  pallor  and  ill-health  of  the  meagre  counte- 
nance, and  the  brilliancy  of  the  eyes  that  now  sparkled  with 
rage  as  they  met  those  of  Errington.  He,  from  his  superior 
height,  glanced  down  with  pity  on  the  unfortunate  creature, 
whom  he  at  once  took  to  be  the  actual  owner  of  the  cave  he 
had  explored.  Uncertain  what  to  do,  whether  to  speak  or 
remain  silent,  he  moved  slightly  as  though  to  pass  on  ;  but 
the  shock-headed  dwarf  leaped  lightly  in  his  way,  and, 
planting  himself  firmly  before  him,  shrieked  some  unintel- 
ligible threat,  of  which  Errington  could  only  make  out  the 
last  words,  "  Nifleheim  "  and  "  Nastrond." 

"  I  believe  he  is  commending  me  to  the  old  Norwegian 
inferno"  thought  the  young  baronet  with  a  smile,  amused 
at  the  little  man's  evident  excitement.  "  Very  polite  of 
him,  I'm  sure!  But,  after  all,  I  had  no  business  here.  I'd 
better  apologize."  And  forthwith  he  began  to  speak  in  the 
simplest  English  words  he  could  choose,  taking  care  to  pro- 
nounce them  very  slowly  and  distinctly. 

"  I  cannot  understand  3-011,  my  good  sir;  but  I  see  you 
are  angry.  I  came  here  by  accident.  I  am  going  away 
now  at  once." 

His  explanation  had  a  strange  effect.  The  dwarf  drew 
nearer,  twirled  himself  rapidly  round  three  times  as  though 
waltzing ;  then,  holding  his  torch  a  little  to  one  side,  turned 
up  his  thin,  pale  countenance,  and,  fixing  his  gaze  on  Sir 
Philip,  studied  every  feature  of  his  face  with  absorbing  in 
terest.  Then  he  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter. 

"  At  last — at  last  ?  "  he  cried  in  fluent  English.  "  Going 
now  ?  Going,  you  say  ?  Never  1  never  1  You  will  never 
go  away  any  more.  No,  not  without  something  stolen  1 
The  dead  have  summoned  you  here  1  Their  white  bony 
fingers  have  dragged  you  across  the  deep !  Did  }rou  not  hear 
their  voices,  cold  and  hollow  as  the  winter  wind,  calling,  call- 
ing you, and  saying, '  Come,  come,  proud  robber,  from  over  the 
far  seas  ;  come  and  gather  the  beautiful  rose  of  the  northern 
forest '  ?  Yes,  Yes  1  You  have  obeyed  the  dead — the  deao 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  21 

who  feign  sleep,  but  are  ever  wakeful ; — you  have  come  as 
a  thief  in  the  golden  midnight,  and  the  thing  you  seek  is 
the  life  of  Sigurd  !  Yes — yes  !  it  is  true.  The  spirit  can- 
not lie.  You  must  kill,  you  must  steal !  See  how  the 
blood  drips,  drop  by  drop,  from  the  heart  of  Sigurd  I  And 
the  jewel  you  steal — ah,  what  a  jewel ! — }rou  shall  not  find 
such  another  in  Norway  !  " 

His  excited  voice  sank  by  degrees  to  a  plaintive  and  for, 
lorn  whisper,  and  dropping  his  torch  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair on  the  ground,  he  looked  at  it  burning,  with  an  air  of 
mournful  and  utter  desolation.  Profoundly  touched,  as  he 
immediately  understood  the  condition  of  his  companion's 
wandering  wits,  Errington  spoke  to  him  soothingly. 

"  You  mistake  me,"  he  said  in  gentle  accents ;  "  I  would 
not  steal  anything  from  you,  nor  have  I  come  to  kill  you. 
See,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand,  "  I  wouldn't  harm  you  for 
the  world.  I  didn't  know  this  cave  belonged  to  you.  For- 
give me  for  having  entered  it.  I  am  going  to  rejoin  my 
friends.  Good-b}^  1  " 

The  strange,  half-craz}^  creature  touched  his  outstretched 
hand  timidly,  and  with  a  sort  of  appeal. 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye !  "  he  muttered.  "  That  is  what 
they  all  say, — even  the  dead, — good-bye ;  but  they  never 
go — never,  never !  You  cannot  be  different  to  the  rest. 
And  you  do  not  wish  to  hurt  poor  Sigurd  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  are  Sigurd,"  said  Philip,  half 
laughing ;  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  hurt  you." 

u  You  are  sure  ?  "  he  persisted,  with  a  sort  of  obstinate 
eagerness.  "  You  have  eyes  which  tell  truths ;  but  there 
other  things  which  are  truer  than  eyes — things  in  the  air, 
in  the  grass,  in  the  waves,  and  they  talk  very  strangely  of 
you.  I  know  }'ou,  of  course !  I  knew  you  ages  ago — 
long  before  I  saw  you  dead  on  the  field  of  battle,  and 
the  black-haired  Valkyrie  galloped  with  you  to  Val- 
halla !  Yes ;  I  knew  you  long  before  that,  and  you  knew 
me ;  for  I  was  your  King,  and  you  were  my  vassal,  wild 
and  rebellious — not  the  proud,  rich  Englishman  you  are 
to-day." 

Errington  started.  How  could  this  Sigurd,  as  he  called 
himself,  be  aware  of  either  his  wealth  or  nationality  ? 

The  dwarf  observed  his  movement  of  surprise  with  a 
cunning  smile. 

"  Sigurd  is  wise, — Sigurd  is  brave  !  Who  shall  deceive 
turn  ?  He  knows  you  well ;  he  will  always  know  you.  The 


22  THELMA. 

old  gods  teach  Sigurd  all  his  wisdom — the  gods  of  the  sea 
and  the  wind — the  sleepy  gods  that  lie  in  the  hearts  of  the 
flowers — the  small  spirits  that  sit  in  shells  and  sing  all  day 
and  all  night."  He  paused,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  a  wist 
ful  look  of  attention.  He  drew  closer. 

"  Come,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  come,  you  must  listen  to 
my  music ;  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  what  it  means." 

He  picked  up  his  smouldering  torch  and  held  it  aloft 
again ;  then,  beckoning  Errington  to  follow  him,  he  led  the 
way  to  a  small  grotto,  cut  deeply  into  the  wall  of  the 
cavern.  Here  there  were  no  shell  patterns.  Little  green 
ferns  grew  thickly  out  of  the  stone  crevices,  and  a  minute 
runlet  of  water  trickled  slowly  down  from  above,  freshen- 
ing the  delicate  frondage  as  it  fell.  With  quick,  agile  fingers 
he  removed  a  loose  stone  from  this  aperture,  and  as  he  did 
so,  a  low  shuddering  wail  resounded  through  the  arches — a 
melancholy  moan  that  rose  and  sank,  and  rose  again  in 
weird,  sorrowful  minor  echoes. 

"  Hear  her,"  murmured  Sigurd  plaintively.  "  She  is  al- 
ways complaining  ;  it  is  a  pity  she  cannot  rest  I  She  is  a 
spirit,  you  know.  I  have  often  asked  her  what  troubles 
her,  but  she  will  not  tell  me ;  she  only  weeps  I  " 

His  companion  looked  at  him  compassionately.  The 
sound  that  so  affected  his  disordered  imagination  was  noth- 
ing but  the  wind  blowing  through  the  narrow  hole  formed 
by  the  removal  of  the  stone  ;  but  it  was  useless  to  explain 
this  simple  fact  to  one  in  his  condition. 

"  Tell  me,"  and  Sir  Philip  spoke  very  gently,  "  is  this 
your  home  ?  " 

The  dwarf  surveyed  him  almost  scornful^.  "  My  home !  " 
he  echoed.  "  My  home  is  everywhere — on  the  mountains, 
in  the  forests,  on  the  black  rocks  and  barren  shores  !  My 
soul  lives  between  the  sun  and  the  sea ;  my  heart  is  with 
Thelma !  " 

Thelma !     Here  was  perhaps  a  clue  to  the  mystery. 

"  Who  is  Thelma  ? "  asked  Errington  somewhat  hurri- 
edly. 

Sigurd  broke  into  violent  and  derisive  laughter.  "  Do 
you  think  I  will  tell  you  ?  "  he  cried  loudly.  "  You, — one 
of  that  strong,  cruel  race  who  must  conquer  all  they  see ; 
who  covet  everything  fair  under  heaven,  and  will  buy  it, 
even  at  the  cost  of  blood  and  tears  !  Do  you  think  I  will 
unlock  the  door  of  my  treasure  to  you?  No, k.  ;  besides." 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  23 

and  his  voice  sank  lower, "  what  should  you  do  with  Thelraa  ? 
She  is  dead  1  " 

And,  as  if  possessed  by  a  sudden  access  of  frenzy,  he 
brandished  his  pine-torch  wildly  above  his  head  till  it  show- 
ered a  rain  of  bright  sparks  above  him,  and  exclaimed  furi- 
ously— 

"  Away,  away,  and  trouble  me  not  I  The  days  are  not 
yet  fulfilled, — the  time  is  not  yet  ripe.  Why  seek  to  hasten 
my  end?  Away,  away,  I  tell  you  !  Leave  me  in  peace  1 
I  will  die  when  Thelma  bids  me  ;  but  not  till  then  ! " 

And  he  rushed  down  the  long  gallery  and  disappeared  in 
the  furthest  chamber,  where  he  gave  vent  to  a  sort  of  long, 
sobbing  cry,  which  rang  dolefully  through  the  cavern  and 
then  subsided  into  utter  silence. 

Feeling  as  if  he  were  in  a  chaotic  dream,  Errington  pur- 
sued his  interrupted  course  through  the  winding  passages 
with  a  bewildered  and  wondering  mind.  What  strange 
place  had  he  inadvertently  lighted  on  ?  and  who  were  the 
still  stranger  beings  in  connection  with  it  ?  First  the  beau- 
tiful girl  herself;  next  the  mysterious  coffin,  hidden  in  its 
fanciful  shell  temple  ;  and  now  this  deformed  madman,  with 
the  pale  face  and  fine  eyes ;  whose  utterances,  though  in- 
coherent, savored  somewhat  of  poesy  and  prophecy.  And 
what  spell  was  attached  to  that  name  of  Thelma  ?  The 
more  he  thought  of  his  morning's  adventure,  the  more  puz- 
zled  he  became.  As  a  rule,  he  believed  more  in  the  com- 
monplace than  in  the  romantic — most  people  do.  But 
truth  to  tell,  romance  is  far  more  common  than  the  com- 
monplace. There  are  few  who  have  not,  at  one  time  or 
other  of  their  lives,  had  some  strange  or  tragic  episode 
woven  into  the  tissue  of  their  every-day  existence  ;  and  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  one  person  even  among  humdrum 
individuals,  who,  from  birth  to  death,  has  experienced  noth- 
ing out  of  the  common. 

Errington  generally  dismissed  all  tales  of  adventure  as 
mere  exaggerations  of  heated  fancy ;  and,  had  he  read  in 
some  book,  of  a  respectable  nineteenth-century  yachtsman 
having  such  an  interview  with  a  madman  in  a  sea-cavern, 
he  would  have  laughed  at  the  affair  as  an  utter  improb- 
ability, though  he  could  not  have  explained  why  he  con- 
sidered it  improbable.  But  now  it  had  occurred  to  him- 
self, he  was  both  surprised  and  amused  at  the  whole  cir- 
cumstance ;  moreover,  he  was  sufficiently  interested  and 
curious  to  be  desirous  of  sifting  the  matter  to  its  foundatioa 


S4  THELMA. 

It  was,  however,  somewhat  of  a  relief  to  him  when  he 
again  reached  the  outer  cavern.  He  replaced  the  lamp  on 
the  shelf  where  he  had  found  it,  and  stepped  once  more 
into  the  brilliant  light  of  the  very  early  dawn,  which  then 
had  all  the  splendor  of  full  morning.  There  was  a  deli- 
ciousl}r  balmy  wind,  the  blue  sky  was  musical  with  a 
chorus  of  larks,  and  every  breath  of  air  that  waved  aside 
the  long  grass  sent  forth  a  thousand  odors  from  hidden 
beds  of  wild  thyme  and  bog-myrtle. 

He  perceived  the  Eulalie  at  anchor  in  her  old  place  on 
the  Fjord;  she  had  returned  while  he  was  absent  on  his 
explorations.  Gathering  together  his  rug  and  painting 
materials,  he  blew  a  whistle  sharply  three  times  ;  he  was 
answered  from  the  yacht,  and  presently  a  boat,  manned 
by  a  couple  of  sailors,  came  skimming  over  the  water  to- 
wards him.  It  soon  reached  the  shore,  and,  entering  it,  he 
was  speedily  rowed  away  from  the  scene  of  his  morning's 
experience  back  to  his  floating  palace,  where,  as  yet,  none 
of  his  friends  were  stirring. 

"  How  about  Jedke  ?  "  he  inquired  of  one  of  his  men- 
"  Did  they  climb  it  ?  " 

A  slow  grin  overspread  the  sailor's  brown  face. 

"Lord  bless  you,  no,  sir  I  Mi\  Lorimer,  he  just  looked 
at  it  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  ;  the  other  gentleman  played 
pitch-and-toss  with  pebbles.  They  was  main  hungry  too, 
and  ate  a  mighty  sight  of  'am  and  pickles.  Then  they  came 
on  board  and  all  turned  in  at  once." 

Errington  laughed.  He  was  amused  at  the  utter  failure 
of  Lorimer's  recent  sudden  energy,  but  not  su. prised. 
His  thoughts  were,  however,  busied  with  something  else, 
and  he  next  asked — 

"  Where's  our  pilot  ?  " 

"  Valdemar  Svensen,  sir  ?  He  went  down  to  his  bunk  as 
soon  as  we  anchored,  for  a  snooze,  he  said." 

"  All  right.  If  he  comes  on  deck  before  I  do,  just  tell 
him  not  to  go  ashore  for  anything  till  I  see  him.  I  want 
to  speak  to  him  after  breakfast." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

Whereupon  Sir  Philip  descended  to  his  private  cabin. 
He  drew  the  blind  at  the  port-hole  to  shut  out  the  dazzling 
sunlight,  for  it  was  nearly  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  quickly  undressing,  he  flung  himself  into  his  berth 
with  a  slight,  not  altogether  unpleasant,  feeling  of  exhaus- 
tion. To  the  last,  as  his  eyes  closed  drowsily,  he  seemed 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  26 

to  hear  the  slow  drip,  drip  of  the  water  behind  the  rocky 
cavern,  and  the  desolate  cry  of  the  incomprehensible 
Sigurd,  while  through  these  sounds  that  mingled  with  the 
gurgle  of  little  waves  lapping  against  the  sides  of  the 
Eulalie,  the  name  of  "  Thelma  "  murmured  itself  in  his 
ears  till  slumber  drowned  his  senses  in  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Hast  any  mortal  name, 
Fit  appellation  for  this  dazzling  frame, 
Or  friends  or  kinsfolk  on  the  citied  earth?  " 

KEATS. 

"  THIS  is  positively  absurd,"  murmured  Lorimer,  in 
mildly  injured  tones,  seven  hours  later,  as  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  berth,  surveying  Errington,  who,  fully  dressed 
and  in  the  highest  spirits,  had  burst  in  to  upbraid  him  for 
his  laziness  while  he  was  yet  but  scantily  attired.  "  I  tell 
you,  my  good  fellow,  there  are  some  things  which  the  ut- 
most stretch  of  friendship  will  not  stand.  Here  am  I  in 
shirt  and  trousers  with  only  one  sock  on,  and  you  dare  to 
say  you  have  had  an  adventure  1  Why,  if  you  had  cut  a 
piece  out  of  the  sun,  you  ought  to  wait  till  a  man  is  shaved 
before  mentioning  it." 

"  Don't  be  snappish,  old  boy  !  "  laughed  Errington  gaily. 
"  Put  on  that  other  sock  and  listen.  I  don't  want  to  tell 
those  other  fellows  just  yet,  they  might  go  making  in- 
quiries about  her " 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  '  her  '  in  the  case,  is  there?  "  said  Lor- 
imer, opening  his  eyes  rather  widely.  "  Well,  Phil  I  I 
thought  you  had  had  enough,  and  something  too  much,  of 
women." 

"  This  is  not  a  woman !  "  declared  Philip  with  heat  and 
eagerness,  "  at  least  not  the  sort  of  woman  /  have  ever 
known!  This  is  a  forest-empress,  sea-goddess,  or  sun- 
angel  !  I  don't  know  what  she  is,  upon  my  life  1 " 

Lorimer  regarded  him  with  an  air  of  reproachful  offense. 

"  Don't  go  on — please  don't !  "  he  implored.  "  I  can't 
stand  it — I  really  can't !  Incipient  verse-mania  is  too 
much  for  me.  Forest-empress,  sea-goddess,  sun-angel — by 
Jove  !  what  next  ?  You  are  evidently  in  a  very  bad  way. 
If  I  remember  rightly,  you  had  a  flask  of  that  old  green 
Chartreuse  with  you.  Ah !  that  accounts  for  it  1  Nice 
stuff,  but  a  little  too  strong. " 


26  THELMA. 

Errington  laughed,  and,  unabashed  by  his  friend's  rail 
lery,  proceeded  to  relate  with  much  vivacit3T  and  graphic 
fervor  the  occurrences  of  the  morning.  Lorimer  listened 
patiently  with  a  forbearing  smile  on  his  open,  ruddy  coun- 
tenance. When  he  had  heard  everything  he  looked  up  and 
inquired  calmly — 

"  This  is  not  a  yarn,  is  it  ?  " 

"A  yarn!"  exclaimed  Philip.  "Do  you  think  I  would 
invent  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Can't  say,"  returned  Lorimer  imperturbably.  "  You 
are  quite  capable  of  it.  It's  a  very  creditable  crammer, 
due  to  Chartreuse.  Might  have  been  designed  by  Victor 
Hugo ;  it's  in  his  style.  Scene,  Norway — midnight.  Mys- 
terious maiden  steals  out  of  a  cave  and  glides  away  in  a 
boat  over  the  water ;  man,  the  hero,  goes  into  cave,  finds  a 
stone  coffin,  says — '  Qu'est-ce  que  c'est  ?  Dieu  1  C'est  la 
mort ! '  Spectacle  affreux !  Staggers  back  perspiring ; 
meets  mad  dwarf  with  torch ;  mad  dwarf  talks  a  good  deal 
— mad  people  always  do, — then  yells  and  runs  away.  Man 
comes  out  of  cave  and — and — goes  home  to  astonish  his 
friends ;  one  of  them  won't  be  astonished, — that's  me  !  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Errington.  "  It's  a  true  story  for 
all  that.  Only,  I  say,  don't  talk  of  it  before  the  others  ; 
let's  keep  our  own  counsel " 

"  No  poachers  allowed  on  the  Sun-Angel  Manor !  "  inter- 
rupted  Lorimer  gravely.  Philip  went  on  without  heeding 
him. 

"  I'll  question  Yaldemar  Svensen  after  breakfast.  He 
knows  everybody  about  here.  Come  and  have  a  smoke  on 
deck  when  I  give  you  the  sign,  and  we'll  cross-examine 
him." 

Lorimer  still  looked  incredulous.  "  What's  the  good  of 
it  ?  "  he  inquired  languidly.  "  Even  if  it's  all  true  you  had 
much  better  leave  this  goddess,  or  whatever  you  call  her, 
alone,  especially  if  she  has  any  mad  connections.  What  do 
you  want  with  her  ?  " 

"  Nothing  !  "  declared  Errington,  though  his  color  height- 
ened. "  Nothing,  I  assure  you  !  It's  just  a  matter  of  curi- 
osity with  me.  I  should  like  to  know  who  she  is — that's 
all !  The  affair  won't  go  any  further." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  and  Lorimer  began  to  brush  his 
stiff  curly  hair  with  a  sort  of  vicious  vigor.  "  How  can  you 
tell  ?  I'm  not  a  spiritualist,  nor  any  sort  of  a  humbug  at 
all,  I  hope,  but  I  sometimes  indulge  in  presentiments.  Be- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  27 

fore  we  started  on  this  cruise,  I  was  haunted  by  that  dismal 
old  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spens — 

'The  King's  daughter  of  Norroway 
'Tis  thou  maun  bring  her  name  ! ' 

And  here  you  have  found  her,  or  so  it  appears.  What's  to 
come  of  it,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Nothing's  to  come  of  it ;  nothing  will  come  of  it !  " 
laughed  Philip.  "  As  I  told  you,  she  said  she  was  a  peas- 
ant. There's  the  breakfast-bell !  Make  haste,  old  bo}r,  I'm 
as  hungry  as  a  hunter  !  " 

And  he  left  his  friend  to  finish  dressing,  and  entered  the 
saloon,  where  he  greeted  his  two  other  companions,  Alec, 
or,  as  he  was  offcener  called,  Sandy  Macfarlane,  and  Pierre 
Puprez  ;  the  former  an  Oxford  student, — the  latter  a  young 
fellow  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  in  Paris,  and  with 
whom  he  had  kept  up  a  constant  and  friendly  intercourse. 
A  greater  contrast  than  these  two  presented  could  scarcely 
be  imagined.  Macfarlane  was  tall  and  ungainly,  with  large 
loose  joints  that  seemed  to  protrude  angularly  out  of  him 
in  every  direction, — Puprez  was  short,  slight  and  wiry, 
with  a  clapper  and  by  no  means  ungraceful  figure.  The  one 
had  formal  gauche  manners,  a  never-to-be-eradicated  Glas- 
gow accent,  and  a  slow,  infinitely  tedious  method  of  ex- 
pressing himself, — the  other  was  full  of  restless  movement 
and  pantomimic  gesture,  and  being  proud  of  his  English, 
plunged  into  that  language  recklessly,  making  it  curiously 
light  and  flippant,  though  picturesque,  as  he  went.  Mac- 
farlane was  destined  to  become  a  shining  light  of  the  estab- 
lished Church  of  Scotland,  and  therefore  took  life  very  se- 
riously,— Puprez  was  the  spoilt  only  child  of  an  eminent 
French  banker,  and  had  very  little  to  do  but  enjoy  himself, 
and  that  he  did  most  thoroughly,  without  any  calculation 
or  care  for  the  future.  On  all  points  of  taste  and  opinion 
they  differed  widely  ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  about  their 
both  being  good-hearted  fellows,  without  any  affectation  of 
abnormal  vice  or  virtue. 

u  So  you  did  not  climb  Jedke  after  all !  "  remarked  Er- 
rington  laughingly,  as  they  seated  themselves  at  the  break- 
fast table. 

"  My  friend,  what  would  you  !  "  cried  Puprez.  "  I  have 
not  said  that  I  will  climb  it ;  no  !  I  never  say  that  I  will  do 
anything,  because  I'm  not  sure  of  myself.  How  can  I  be  ? 
It  is  that  cher  enfant,  Lorimer,  that  said  such  brave  words  1 


28  THELMA. 

See!  .  .  .  we  arrive  ;  we  behold  the  shore — ail  black,  great, 
vast  I  ...  rocks  like  needles,  and,  higher  than  all,  this 
most  fierce  Jedke — bah  I  what  a  name ! — straight  as  the 
spire  of  a  cathedral.  One  must  be  a  fly  to  crawl  up  it,  and 
we,  we  are  not  flies — ma  foi  !  no  !  Lorimer,  he  laugh,  he 
yawn — so !  He  say, '  not  for  me  to-day ;  I -very  much  thank 
you  ! '  And  then,  we  watch  the  sun.  Ah  !  that  was  grand, 
glorious,  beautiful !  "  And  Duprez  kissed  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  in  ecstacy. 

"  What  did  you  think  about  it,  Sandy  ?  "  asked  Sir  Philip. 

"  I  didna  think  much,"  responded  Macfarlane,  shortly. 
"  It's  no  sae  grand  a  sight  as  a  sunset  in  Skye.  And  it's 
an  uncanity  business  to  see  the  sun  losin'  a'  his  poonctooal- 
ity,  and  remainin'  stock  still,  as  it  were,  when  it's  his  plain 
duty  to  set  below  the  horizon.  Mysel',  I  think  it's  been 
fair  over-rated.  It's  unnatural  an'  oot  o'  the  common,  say 
what  ye  like." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  agreed  Lorimer,  who  just  then  saun- 
tered in  from  his  cabin.  "  Nature  is  most  unnatural.  I 
always  thought  so.  Tea  for  me,  Phil,  please  ;  coffee  wakes 
me  up  too  suddenly.  I  say,  what's  the  programme  to-day  ?  " 

"  Fishing  in  the  Alten,"  answered  Errington  promptly. 

"  That  suits  me  perfectly,"  said  Lorimer,  as  he  leisurely 
sipped  his  tea.  ''  I'm  an  excellent  fisher.  I  hold  the  line 
and  generally  forget  to  bait  it.  Then, — while  it  trails  harm- 
lessly in  the  water,  I  doze ;  thus  both  the  fish  and  I  are 
happy." 

"  And  this  evening,"  went  on  Errington,  "  we  must  return 
the  minister's  call.  He's  been  to  the  yacht  twice.  We're 
bound  to  go  out  of  common  politeness." 

"  Spare  us,  good  Lord  !  "  groaned  Lorimer. 

"  What  a  delightfully  fat  man  is  that  good  religious  !  n 
cried  Duprez.  u  A  living  proof  of  the  healthiness  of  Nor- 
way !" 

"  He's  not  a  native,"  put  in  Macfarlane ;  "  he's  frae' 
Yorkshire.  He's  only  been  a  matter  of  three  months  here, 
filling  the  place  o'  the  settled  meenister  who's  awa'  for  a 
change  of  air." 

"  He's  a  precious  specimen  of  a  humbug,  anyhow,"  sighed 
Lorimer  drearily.  "  However,  I'll  be  civil  to  him  as  long  as 
he  doesn't  ask  me  to  hear  him  preach.  At  that  suggestion 
I'll  fight  him.  He's  soft  enough  to  bruise  easily." 

"  Ye're  just  too  lazy  to  fight  onybody,"  declared  Macfar- 
lane. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  29 

Lorimer  smiled  sweetly.  "  Thanks,  awfully  !  I  dare 
say  you're  right.  I've  never  found  it  worth  while  as  yet  to 
exert  myself  in  any  particular  direction.  No  one  has  asked 
me  to  exert  myself;  no  one  wants  me  to  exert  myself; 
therefore,  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Don't  ye  want  to  get  on  in  the  world  ?  "  asked  Macfar- 
lane,  almost  brusquely. 

"Dear  me,  no!  AVhat  an  exhausting  idea  !  Get  on  in 
the  world — what  for  ?  I  have  five  hundred  a  year,  and 
when  my  mother  goes  over  to  the  majority  (long  distant  be 
that  day,  for  I'm  very  fond  of  the  dear  old  lad}'),  I  shall 
have  five  thousand — more  than  enough  to  satisfy  any  sane 
man  who  doesn't  want  to  speculate  on  the  Stock  Exchange. 
Your  case,  my  good  Mac,  is  different.  You  will  be  a  cele- 
brated Scotch  divine.  You  will  preach  to  a  crowd  of  pious 
numskulls  about  predestination,  and  so  forth.  You  will  be 
stump-orator  for  the  securing  of  seats  in  paradise.  Now, 
now,  keep  calm  ! — don't  mind  me.  It's  only  a  figure  of 
speech  !  And  the  numskulls  will  call  you  a  '  rare  powerfu' 
rousin'  preacher' — isn't  that  the  way  they  goon?  and  when 
you  die — for  die  you  must,  most  unfortunately — they  will 
give  you  a  three-cornered  block  of  granite  (if  they  can  make 
up  their  minds  to  part  with  the  necessary  bawbees)  with 
your  name  prettily  engraved  thereon.  That's  all  very 
nice ;  it  suits  some  people.  It  wouldn't  suit  me." 

"  What  would  suit  you  ?  "  queried  Erriugton.  "  You 
find  everything  more  or  less  of  a  bore." 

"  Ah,  my  good  little  boy  !  "  broke  in  Duprez.  "  Paris  is 
the  place  for  you.  You  should  live  in  Paris.  Of  that  you 
would  never  fatigue  yourself." 

"  Too  much  absinthe,  secret  murder  and  suicidal  mania," 
returned  Lorimer,  meditatively.  "  That  was  a  neat  idea 
about  the  coffins  though.  I  never  hoped  to  dine  off  a 
coffin." 

"Ah!  you  mean  the  Taverne  de  1'Enfer?"  exclaimed 
Duprez.  "Yes;  the  divine  waitresses  wore  winding  sheets, 
and  the  wine  was  served  in  imitation  skulls.  Excellent !  I 
remember ;  the  tables  were  shaped  like  coffins." 

"  Gude  Lord  Almighty  !  "  piously  murmured  Macfarlane. 
"  What  a  fearsome  sicht !  " 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  with  an  unusually  marked 
accent,  Duprez  looked  inquiring. 

"  What  does  our  Macfarlane  say  ?  " 

"  He   says  it  must   have  been  a  '  fearsome  sicht,' "  re- 


50  THELMA. 

peated  Lorimer,  with  even  a  stronger  accent  than  Sanby's 
own,  "  which,  mon  cher  Pierre,  means  all  the  horrors  in 
your  language;  affreux,e.j)ouvantable,  navrant — anything 
you  like,  that  is  sufficiently  terrible/' 

"  Mais,  point  da  tout!  "  cried  Duprez  energetically.  "  It 
was  charming  !  It  made  us  laugh  at  death — so  much  bet- 
ter than  to  cry  !  And  there  was  a  delicious  child  in  a  wind- 
ing-sheet ;  brown  curls,  laughing  eyes  and  little  mouth  ;  ha, 
ha  !  but  she  was  well  worth  kissing !  " 

"  I'd  rather  follow  ma  own  funeral,  than  kiss  a  lass  in  a 
winding-sheet,"  said  Sandy,  in  solemn  and  horrified  tones. 
"  It's  just  awfu'  to  think  on." 

"  But,  see,  my  friend,"  persisted  Duprez,  "  you  would  not 
be  permitted  to  follow  your  own  funeral,  not  possible, — 
voila  !  Your  are  permitted  to  kiss  the  pretty  one  in  the 
winding-sheet.  It  is  possible.  Behold  the  difference  !  " 

"  Never  mind  the  Taverne  de  1'Enfer  just  now,"  said 
Errington,  who  had  finished  his  breakfast  hurriedly.  "  It's 
time  for  you  fellows  to  get  your  fishing  toggery  on.  I'm 
off  to  speak  to  the  pilot." 

And  away  he  went,  followed  more  slowly  by  Lorimer, 
who,  though  he  pretended  indifference,  was  rather  curious 
to  know  more,  if  possible,  concerning  his  friend's  adven- 
ture of  the  morning.  They  found  the  pilot,  Valdemar 
Svensen,  leaning  at  his  ease  against  the  idle  wheel,  with  his 
face  turned  towards  the  eastern  sky.  He  was  a  stalwart 
specimen  of  Norse  manhood,  tall  and  strongly  built,  with 
thoughtful,  dignified  features,  and  keen,  clear  hazel  e}res. 
His  chestnut  hair,  plentifully  sprinkled  with  gray,  clustered 
thickly  over  a  broad  brow,  that  was  deeply  furrowed  with 
many  a  line  of  anxious  and  speculative  thought,  and  the 
forcible  brown  hand  that  rested  lightl}'  on  the  spokes  of  the 
wheel,  told  its  own  tale  of  hard  and  honest  labor.  Neither 
wife  nor  child,  nor  living  relative  had  Valdemar ;  the  one 
passion  of  his  heart  was  the  sea.  Sir  Philip  Errington  had 
engaged  him  at  Christiansund,  hearing  of  him  there  as  a 
man  to  whom  the  intricacies  of  the  Fjords,  and  the  dangers 
of  rock-bound  coasts,  were  more  familiar  than  a  straight 
road  on  dry  lake,  and  since  then  the  management  of  the 
Eulalie  had  been  entirely  entrusted  to  him.  Though  an 
eminently  practical  sailor,  he  was  half  a  mystic,  and  be- 
lieved in  the  wildest  legends  of  his  land  with  more  implicit 
faith  than  many  so-called  Christians  believe  in  their  sacred 
doctrines.  He  doffed  his  red  cap  respectfully  now  as  Er- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  31 

rington  and  Lorimer  approached,  smilingly  wishing  them 
"  a  fair  day."  Sir  Philip  offered  him  a  cigar,  and,  coming 
to  the  point  at  once,  asked  abruptly — 

"  I  say,  Svensen,  are  there  any  pretty  girls  in  Bosekop  ?  " 

The  pilot  drew  the  newly  lit  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and 
passed  his  rough  hand  across  his  forehead  in  a  sort  of  grave 
perplexity. 

"  It  is  a  matter  in  which  I  am  foolish,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  for  my  ways  have  always  gone  far  from  the  ways  of 

women.  Girls  there  are  plenty,  I  suppose,  but "  he 

mused  with  pondering  patience  for  awhile.  Then  a  broad 
smile  broke  like  sunshine  over  his  embrowned  counte- 
nance, as  he  continued,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  I  do  remember 
well ;  it  is  said  that  at  Bosekop  yonder,  are  to  be  found 
some  of  the  homeliest  wenches  in  all  Norway." 

Errington's  face  fell  at  this  reply.  Lorimer  turned  away 
to  hide  the  mischievous  smile  that  came  on  his  lips  at  his 
friend's  discomfiture. 

"  I  know  it  was  that  Chartreuse,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self. "  That  and  the  midnight  sun-effects.  Nothing 
else ! " 

"  What !  "  went  on  Philip.  "  No  good-looking  girls  at  all 
about  here,  eh  ?  " 

Svensen  shook  his  head,  still  smilingty. 

"  Not  at  Bosekop,  sir,  that  I  ever  heard  of." 

"  I  say  !  "  broke  in  Lorimer,  u  are  there  any  old  tombs 
or  sea-caves,  or  places  of  that  sort  close  by,  worth  explor- 
ing?" 

Valdemar  Svensen  answered  this  question  readily,  almost 
eagerly. 

"  No,  sir !  There  are  no  antiquities  of  any  sort ;  and  as 
for  caves,  there  are  plenty,  but  only  the  natural  formations 
of  the  sea,  and  none  of  these  are  curious  or  beautiful  on  this 
side  of  the  Fjord." 

Lorimer  poked  his  friend  secretly  in  the  ribs. 

"  You've  been  dreaming,  old  fellow  !  "  he  whispered  slyly. 
"  I  knew  it  was  a  crammer  !  " 

Errington  shook  him  off  good-humoredly. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  he  said,  addressing  Valdemar  again  in 
distinct  accents,  "  whether  there  is  any  place,  person,  or 
thing  near  here  called  Thelma  ?  " 

The  pilot  started  ;  a  look  of  astonishment  and  fear  came 
into  his  eyes ;  his  hand  went  instinctively  to  his  red  cap,  as 
though  in  deference  to  the  name. 


32  THELMA. 

"  The  Froken  Thelma  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  low  tones.  "  Is 
it  possible  that  you  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Ah,  George,  what  do  you  say  now  ?  "  cried  Errington 
delightedly.  "  Yes,  3res,  Valdemar  ;  the  Froken  Thelma,  as 
yo.i  call  her.  Who  is  she  ?  .  .  .  What  is  she  ? — and  how 
can  there  be  no  pretty  girls  in  Bosekop  if  such  a  beautiful 
creature  as  she  lives  there  ?  " 

Valdemar  looked  troubled  and  vexed. 

"  Truly,  I  thought  not  of  the  maiden,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  'Tis  not  for  me  to  speak  of  the  daughter  of  Olaf,"  here 
his  voice  sank  a  little,  and  his  face  grew  more  and  more 
sombre.  u  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  how  did  you  meet  her  ? " 

u  By  accident,"  replied  Errington  promptly,  not  caring  to 
relate  his  morning's  adventure  for  the  pilot's  benefit.  "  Is 
she  some  great  personage  here  ?  " 

Svensen  sighed,  and  smiled  somewhat  dubiously. 

"  Great  ?  Oh,  no  ;  not  what  you  would  call  great.  Her 
father,  Olaf  Giildmar,  is  a  bonde, — that  is,  a  farmer  in  his  own 
right.  He  has  a  goodly  house,  and  a  few  fair  acres  well 
planted  and  tilled, — also  he  pays  his  men  freely, — but  those 
that  work  for  him  are  all  he  sees, — neither  he  nor  his  daugh- 
ter ever  visit  the  town.  They  dwell  apart,  and  have  noth- 
ing in  common  with  their  neighbors." 

"  And  where  do  they  live  ?  "  asked  Lorimer,  becoming  as 
interested  as  he  had  formerly  been  incredulous. 

The  pilot  leaned  lightly  over  the  rail  of  the  deck  and 
pointed  towards  the  west. 

"  You  see  that  great  rock  shaped  like  a  giant's  helmet, 
and  behind  it  a  high  green  knoll,  clustered  thick  with  birch 
and  pine  ?  " 

They  nodded  assent. 

"  At  the  side  of  the  knoll  is  the  bonders  house,  a  good 
eight-mile  walk  from  the  outskirts  of  Bosekop.  Should  you 
ever  seek  to  rest  there,  gentlemen,"  and  Svensen  spoke  with 
quiet  resolution,  "  I  doubt  whether  you  will  receive  a 
pleasant  welcome." 

And  he  looked  at  them  both  with  an  inquisitive  air,  as 
though  seeking  to  discover  their  intentions. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  drawled  Lorimer  lazily,  giving  his  friend 
an  expressive  nudge.  "  Ah !  We  shant  trouble  them  ! 
Thanks  for  your  information,  Valdemar  !  We  don't  intend 
to  hunt  up  the — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — the  bonde,  if  he's  at 
all  surly.  Hospitality  that  gives  you  greeting  and  a  dinner 
for  nothing, — that's  what  suits  me." 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  33 

"  Our  people  are  not  without  hospitality,"  said  the  pilot, 
with  a  touch  of  wistful  and  appealing  dignity.  "  All  along 
your  journey,  gentlemen,  you  have  been  welcomed  gladly, 
as  you  know.  But  Olaf  Giildmar  is  not  like  the  rest  of  us ; 
he  has  the  pride  and  fierceness  of  olden  days  ;  his  manners 
and  customs  are  different ;  and  few  like  him.  He  is  much 
feared." 

"  You  know  him  then  ?  "  inquired  Errington  carelessly. 

"  I  know  him,"  returned  Yaldemar  quietly.  "  And  his 
daughter  is  fair  as  the  sun  and  the  sea.  But  it  is  not  my 

place  to  speak  of  them ."  He  broke  off,  and  after  a 

slightly  embarrassed  pause,  asked,  "  Will  the  Herren  wish 
to  sail  to-day  ?  " 

"  No  Yaldemar,"  answered  Errington  indifferently.  "  Not 
till  to-morrow,  when  we'll  visit  the  Kaa  Fjord  if  the  weather 
keeps  fair." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  and  the  pilot,  tacitly  avoiding  any 
further  converse  with  his  emplo3Ter  respecting  the  myste- 
rious Thelma  and  her  equally  mysterious  father,  turned  to 
examine  the  wheel  and  compass  as  though  something  there 
needed  his  earnest  attention.  Errington  and  Lorimer 
strolled  up  and  down  the  polished  white  deck  arm-in-arm, 
talking  in  low  tones. 

"  You  didn't  ask  him  about  the  coffin  and  the  dwarf," 
said  Lorimer. 

"  No ;  because  I  believe  he  knows  nothing  of  either,  and 
it  would  be  news  to  him  which  I'm  not  bound  to  give.  If 
I  can  manage  to  see  the  girl  again  the  mystery  of  the  cave 
may  explain  itself." 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Errington  looked  meditative.  "  Nothing  at  present. 
We'll  go  fishing  with  the  others.  But,  I  tell  you  what,  if 
you're  up  to  it,  we'll  leave  Duprez  and  Macfarlane  at  the 
minister's  house  this  evening  and  tell  them  to  wait  for  us 
there, — once  they  all  begin  to  chatter  they  never  know  how 
time  goes.  Meanwhile  you  and  I  will  take  the  boat  and 
row  over  in  search  of  this  farmer's  abode.  I  believe  there's 
a  short  cut  to  it  by  water ;  at  any  rate  I  know  the  way  she 
went." 

"  '  I  know  the  way  she  went  home  with  her  maiden 
posy  ! '  '  quoted  Lorimer,  with  a  laugh.  "  You  are  hit 
Phil, '  a  very  palpable  hit '  1  Who  would  have  thought  it ! 
Clara  Winsleigh  needn't  poison  her  husband  after  all  in 


34  THELMA, 

order  to  marry  you,  for  nothing  but  a  sun-empress  will  suit 
you  now." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  George,"  said  Errington,  half  vexedly, 
as  the  hot  color  mounted  to  his  face  in  spite  of  himself.  "  It 
is  all  idle  curiosity,  nothing  else.  After  what  Svensen  told 
us,  I'm  quite  as  anxious  to  see  this  gruff' old  bonde  as  his 
daughter." 

Lorimer  held  up  a  reproachful  finger.  "  Now,  Phil, 
don't  stoop  to  duplicity — not  with  me,  at  any  rate.  Why 
disguise  your  feelings?  Why,  as  the  tragedians  say,  en- 
deavor to  crush  the  noblest  and  best  emotions  that  ever 
warm  the  boo-zum  of  man?  Chivalrous  sentiment  and  ad- 
miration for  beauty, — chivalrous  desire  to  pursue  it  and  catch 
it  and  call  it  your  own, — I  understand  it  all,  my  dear  boy  ! 
But  my  prophetic  soul  tells  me  you  will  have  to  strangle  the 
excellent  Olaf  Giildmar — heavens !  what  a  name ! — before 
you  will  be  allowed  to  make  love  to  his  fair  chee-ild.  Then 
don't  forget  the  madman  with  the  torch, — he  may  turn  up 
in  the  most  unexpected  fashion  and  give  you  no  end  of 
trouble.  But,  by  Jove,  it  in  a  romantic  affair,  positively 
quite  stagey  I  Something  will  come  of  it,  serious  or  comic. 
t  wonder  which  ?  " 

Errington  laughed,  but  said  nothing  in  reply,  as  their 
two  companions  ascended  from  the  cabin  at  that  moment, 
in  full  attire  for  the  fishing  expedition,  followed  by  the 
steward  bearing  a  large  basket  of  provisions  for  luncheon, — 
and  all  private  conversation  came  to  an  end.  Hastening 
the  rest  of  their  preparations,  within  twenty  minutes  they 
were  skimming  across  the  Fjord  in  a  long  boat  manned  by 
four  sailors,  who  rowed  with  a  will  and  sent  the  light 
craft  scudding  through  the  water  with  the  swiftness  of  an 
arrow.  Landing,  they  climbed  the  dewy  hills  spangled 
thick  with  forget-me-nots  and  late  violets,  till  they  reached 
a  shady  and  secluded  part  of  the  river,  where,  surrounded 
by  the  songs  of  hundreds  of  sweet-throated  birds,  they  com- 
menced their  sport,  which  kept  them  well  employed  till  a 
late  hour  in  the  afternoon. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Thou  art  violently  carried  away  from  grace  ;  there  is  a  devil 
haunts  thee  in  the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man, — a  tan  of  man  is  thy 
companion."  SHAKESPEARE. 

THE  Reverend  Charles  Dj^ceworthy  sat  alone  in  the  small 
dining-room  of  his  house  at  Bosekop,  finishing  a  late  tea, 
and  disposing  of  round  after  round  of  hot  buttered  toast 
with  that  suave  alacrity  he  always  displajred  in  the  con- 
sumption of  succulent  eatables.  He  was  a  largely  made 
man,  very  much  on  the  wrong  side  of  fifty,  with  accumula- 
tions of  unwholesome  fat  on  every  available  portion  of  his 
body.  His  round  face  was  cleanly  shaven  and  shiny,  as 
though  its  flabby  surface  were  frequently  polished  with  some 
sort  of  luminous  grease  instead  of  the  customary  soap.  His 
mouth  was  absurdly  small  and  pursy  for  so  broad  a  counte- 
nance,— his  nose  seemed  endeavoring  to  retreat  behind  his 
puffy  cheeks  as  though  painfully  aware  of  its  own  insignifi- 
cance,— and  he  had  little,  sharp,  ferret-like  eyes  of  a  dull 
mahogany  brown,  which  were  utterly  destitute  of  even  the 
faintest  attempt  at  any  actual  expression.  They  were  more 
like  glass  beads  than  eyes,  and  glittered  under  their  scanty 
fringe  of  pale-colored  lashes  witL  a  sort  of  shallow  cunning 
which  might  mean  malice  or  good-humor, — no  one  looking 
at  them  could  precisely  determine  which.  His  hair  was  of 
an  indefinite  shade,  neither  light  nor  dark,  somewhat  of  the 
tinge  of  a  dusty  potato  before  it  is  washed  clean.  It  was 
neatly  brushed  and  parted  in  the  middle  with  mathematical 
precision,  while  from  the  back  of  his  head  it  was  brought 
forward  in  two  projections,  one  on  each  side,  like  budding 
wings  behind  his  ears.  It  was  impossible  for  the  most  fas- 
tidious critic  to  find  fault  with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dyce- 
worthy's  hands.  He  had  beautiful  hands,  white,  soft, 
plump  and  well-shaped, — his  delicate  filbert  nails  were 
trimmed  with  punctilious  care,  and  shone  with  a  pink  lustre 
that  was  positively  charming.  He  was  evidently  an  amia- 
ble man,  for  he  smiled  to  himself  over  his  tea, — he  had  a 
trick  of  smiling, — ill-natured  people  said  he  did  it  on  pur- 
pose, in  prder  tx?  widen  his  mouth  and  make  it  mo,re  in. 


36  THELMA. 

portion  to  the  size  of  his  face.  Such  remarks,  however, 
emanated  only  from  the  spiteful  and  envious  who  could  not 
succeed  in  winning  the  social  popularity  that  everywhere 
attended  Mr.  Dyceworthy's  movements.  For  he  was  un- 
doubtedly popular, — no  one  could  deny  that.  In  the  small 
Yorkshire  town  where  he  usually  had  his  abode,  he  came 
little  short  of  being  adored  by  the  women  of  his  own  partic- 
ular sect,  who  crowded  to  listen  to  his  fervent  discourses, 
and  came  away  from  them  on  the  verge  of  hysteria,  so  pro- 
foundly moved  were  their  sensitive  souls  by  his  damnatory 
doctrines.  The  men  were  more  reluctant  in  their  admira- 
tion, yet  even  they  were  always  ready  to  admit  "  that  he 
was  an  excellent  fellow,  with  his  heart  in  the  right  place." 

He  had  a  convenient  way  of  getting  ill  at  the  proper 
seasons,  and  of  requiring  immediate  change  of  air,  where- 
upon his  grateful  flock  were  ready  and  willing  to  subscribe 
the  mone}'  necessary  for  their  beloved  preacher  to  take  re- 
pose and  relaxation  in  any  part  of  the  world  he  chose. 
This  year,  however,  they  had  not  been  asked  to  furnish  the 
usual  funds  for  travelling  expenses,  for  the  resident  minis- 
ter of  Bosekop,  a  frail,  gentle  old  man,  had  been  seriously 
prostrated  during  the  past  winter  with  an  affection  of  the 
lungs,  which  necessitated  his  going  to  a  different  climate 
for  change  and  rest.  Knowing  Dyceworthy  as  a  zealous 
member  of  the  Lutheran  persuasion,  and,  moi'eover,  as  one 
who  had  in  his  youth  lived  for  some  years  in  Christiania, 
— thereby  gaining  a  knowledge  of  the  Norwegian  tongue, 
— he  invited  him  to  take  his  place  for  his  enforced  time  of 
absence,  offering  him  his  house,  his  servants,  his  pony-car- 
riage and  an  agreeable  pecuniary  douceur  in  exchange  for 
his  services, — proposals  which  the  Reverend  Charles  eagerly 
accepted.  Though  Norway  was  not  exactly  new  to  him, 
the  region  of  the  Alten  Fjord  was,  and  he  at  once  felt, 
though  he  knew  not  why,  that  the  air  there  would  be  the 
very  thing  to  benefit  his  delicate  constitution.  Besides,  it 
looked  well  for  at  least  one  occasion,  to  go  away  for  the 
summer  without  asking  him  congregation  to  pay  for  his 
trip.  It  was  generous  on  his  part,  almost  noble. 

The  ladies  of  his  flock  wept  at  his  departure  and  made 
him  socks,  comforters,  slippers,  and  other  consoling  gear  of 
the  like  description  to  recall  their  sweet  memories  to  his 
saintly  mind  during  his  absence  from  their  society.  But, 
truth  to  tell,  Mr.  Dyceworthy  gave  little  thought  to  these 
fond  and  regretful  fair  ones  ;  he  was  much  too  comfortable 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  37 

at  Bosekop  to  look  back  with  any  emotional  3- earning  to  the 
ugly,  precise  little  provincial  town  he  had  left  behind  him. 
The  minister's  quaint,  pretty  house  suited  him  perfectly; 
the  minister's  servants  were  most  punctual  in  their  services; 
the  minister's  phaeton  conveniently  held  his  cumbrous  per- 
son, and  the  minister's  pony  was  a  quiet  beast,  that  trotted 
good-temperedly  wherever  it  was  guided,  and  shied  at 
nothing.  Yes,  he  was  thoroughly  comfortable, — as  com- 
fortable as  a  truly  pious  fat  man  deserves  to  be,  and  all  the 
work  he  had  to  do  was  to  preach  twice  on  Sunda3rs,  to  a 
quiet,  primitive,  decently  ordered  congregation,  who  lis- 
tened to  his  words  respectfully  though  without  displaying 
any  emotional  rapture.  Their  stolidity,  however,  did  not 
affect  him, — he  preached  to  please  himself, — loving  above 
all  things  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and  never  so 
happy  as  when  thundering  fierce  denunciations  against  the 
Church  of  Rome.  His  thoughts  seemed  tending  in  that 
direction  now,  as  he  poured  himself  out  his  third  cup  of  tea 
and  smilingly  shook  his  head  over  it,  while  he  stirred  the 
cream  and  sugar  in, — for  he  took  from  his  waistcoat  pocket 
a  small  glittering  object  and  laid  it  before  him  on  the  table, 
still  shaking  his  head  and  smiling  with  a  patient,  yet  re- 
proachful air  of  superior  wisdom.  It  was  a  crucifix  of 
mother-o '-pearl  and  silver,  the  symbol  of  the  Christian  faith. 
But  it  seemed  to  carry  no  sacred  suggestions  to  the  soul  of 
Mr.  Dyceworthy.  On  the  contrary,  he  looked  at  it  with  an 
expression  of  meek  ridicule, — ridicule  that  bordered  on 
contempt. 

"  A  Roman,"  he  murmured  placidly  to  himself,  between 
two  large  bites  of  toast.  "  The  girl  is  a  Roman,  and  there- 
by hopelessly  damned." 

And  he  smiled  again, — more  sweetly  than  before,  as 
though  the  idea  of  hopeless  damnation  suggested  some 
peculiarly  agreeable  reflections.  Unfolding  his  fine  cologne- 
scented  cambric  handkerchief,  he  carefully  wiped  his  fat 
white  fingers  free  from  the  greasy  marks  of  the  toast,  and, 
taking  up  the  objectionable  cross  gingerly,  as  though  it 
were  red-hot,  he  examined  it  closely  on  all  sides.  There 
were  some  words  engraved  on  the  back  of  it,  and  after  some 
trouble  Mr.  Dyceworthy  spelt  them  out.  They  were 
"  Passio  Christi,  conforta  me.  Thelma." 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  sort  of  resigned  cheerfulness. 

"  Hopelessly  damned,"  he  murmured  again  gently,  "  un- 
less  " 


38  THELMA. 

What  alternative  suggested  itself  to  his  mind  was  not 
precisely  apparent,  for  his  thoughts  suddenly  turned  in  a 
more  frivolous  direction.  Rising  from  the  now  exhausted 
tea-table,  lie  drew  out  a  small  pocket-mirror  and  surveyed 
himself  therein  with  a  mild  approval.  With  the  extreme 
end  of  his  handkerchief  he  tenderly  removed  two  sacrile- 
gious crumbs  that  presumed  to  linger  in  the  corners  of  his 
piously  pursed  mouth.  In  the  same  way  he  detached  a 
morsel  of  congealed  butter  that  clung  pertinaciously  to  the 
end  of  his  bashfully  retreating  nose.  This  done,  he  again 
looked  at  himself  with  increased  satisfaction,  and,  putting 
by  his  pocket-mirror,  rang  the  bell.  It  was  answered  at 
once  by  a  tall,  strongly  built  woman,  with  a  colorless,  stolid 
countenance, — that  might  have  been  carved  out  of  wood  for 
any  expression  it  had  in  it. 

"  Ulrika,"  said  Mr.  Dyceworthy  blandly,  "  you  can  clear 
the  table." 

Ulrika,  without  answering,  began  to  pack  the  tea-things 
together  in  a  methodical  way,  without  clattering  so  much 
as  a  plate  or  spoon,  and,  piling  them  compactly  on  a  tray, 
was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  Mr.  Dyceworthy  called 
to  her,  "  Ulrika !  " 

"  Sir  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  thing  like  this  before  ?  "  and  he  held 
up  the  crucifix  to  her  gaze. 

The  woman  shuddered,  and  her  dull  eyes  lit  up  with  a 
sudden  terror. 

"  It  is  the  witch's  charm  1 "  she  muttered  thickly,  while 
her  pale  face  grew  yet  paler.  "  Burn  it,  sir ! — burn  it,  and 
the  power  will  leave  her." 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  laughed  indulgently.  "  My  good 
woman,  you  mistake,"  he  said  suavely.  u  Your  zeal  for  th~s 
true  gospel  leads  you  into  error.  There  are  thousands  of 
misguided  persons  who  worship  such  a  thing  as  this.  It  is 
often  all  of  our  dear  Lord  they  know.  Sad,  very  sad  !  But 
still,  though  they,  alas  !  are  not  of  the  elect,  and  are  plainly 
doomed  to  perdition, — they  are  not  precisely  what  are 
termed  witches,  Ulrika." 

"  She  is,"  replied  the  woman  with  a  sort  of  ferocity  ; 
"  and,  if  I  had  my  way,  I  would  tell  her  so  to  her  face,  and  see 
what  would  happen  to  her  then  !  " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  remarked  Mr.  Dyceworthy  amiably.  "  The 
days  of  witchcraft  are  past.  You  show  some  little  ignor- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  39 

ance,  Ulrika.  You  are  not  acquainted  with  the  great  ad- 
vancement of  recent  learning." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  and  Ulrika  turned  to  go ;  but  she  mut- 
tered sullenly  as  she  went,  "  There  be  them  that  know  and 
could  tell,  and  them  that  will  have  her  yet." 

She  shut  the  door  behind  her  with  a  sharp  clang,  and, 
left  to  himself,  Mr.  Dyceworthy  again  smiled — such  a  be- 
nignant, fatherly  smile !  He  then  walked  to  the  window 
and  looked  out.  It  was  past  seven  o'clock,  an  hour  that 
elsewhere  would  have  been  considered  evening,  but  in 
Bosekop  at  that  season  it  still  seemed  afternoon. 

The  sun  was  shining  brilliantly,  and  in  the  minister's 
front  garden  the  roses  were  all  wide  awake.  A  soft  moisture 
glittered  on  every  tiny  leaf  and  blade  of  grass.  The  pene- 
trating and  delicious  odor  of  sweet  violets  scented  each  puff 
of  wind,  and  now  and  then  the  call  of  the  cuckoo  pierced 
the  air  with  a  subdued,  far-off'  shrillness. 

From  his  position  Mr.  Dyceworthy  could  catch  a  glimpse 
through  the  trees  of  the  principal  thoroughfare  of  Bose- 
kop— a  small,  primitive  street  enough,  of  little  low  houses, 
which,  though  unpretending  from  without,  were  roomy  and 
comfortable  within.  The  distant,  cool  sparkle  of  the  waters 
of  the  Fjord,  the  refreshing  breeze,  the  perfume  of  the 
flowers,  and  the  satisfied  impression  left  on  his  mind  by 
recent  tea  and  toast — all  these  things  combined  had  a 
sooKimg  effect  on  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  and  with  a  sigh  of  ab- 
solute comfort  he  settled  his  large  person  in  a  deep  easy 
chair  and  composed  himself  for  pious  meditation. 

He  meditated  long, — with  fast-closed  eyes  and  open 
mouth,  while  the  earnestness  of  his  inward  thoughts  was 
clearly  demonstrated  now  and  then  by  an  irrepressible, — 
almost  triumphant, — cornet-blast  from  that  trifling  eleva- 
tion of  his  countenance  called  by  courtesy  a  nose,  when  his 
blissful  reverie  was  suddenly  broken  in  upon  by  the  sound 
of  several  footsteps  crunching  slowty  along  the  garden  path, 
and,  starting  up  from  his  chair,  he  perceived  four  individu- 
als clad  in  white  flannel  costumes  and  wearing  light  straw 
hats  trimmed  with  fluttering  blue  ribbons,  who  were  leis- 
urely sauntering  up  to  his  door,  and  stopping  occasionally 
to  admire  the  flowers  on  their  way.  Mr.  Dyceworthy's  face 
reddened  visibly  with  excitement. 

"  The  gentlemen  from  the  yacht,"  he  murmured  to  him- 
self, hastily  settling  his  collar  and  cravat,  and  pushing  up 
his  cherubic  wings  of  hair  more  prominently  behind  his 


40  THELMA. 

ears.  "  I  never  thought  they  would  come.  Dear  me  I  Sir 
Philip  Errington  himself,  too !  I  must  have  refreshments 
instantly." 

And  he  hurried  from  the  room,  calling  his  orders  to 
Ulrika  as  he  went,  and  before  the  visitors  had  time  to  ring, 
he  had  thrown  open  the  door  to  them  himself,  and  stood 
smiling  urbanely  on  the  threshold,  welcoming  them  with 
enthusiasm, — and  assuring  Sir  Philip  especially  how  much 
honored  he  felt,  by  his  thus  visiting,  familiarly  and  unan- 
nounced, his  humble  dwelling.  Errington  waved  his  many 
compliments  good-humoredly  aside,  and  allowed  himself 
and  his  friends  to  be  marshalled  into  the  best  parlor,  the 
drawing-room  of  the  house,  a  pretty  little  apartment  whose 
window  looked  out  upon  a  tangled  yet  graceful  wilderness 
of  flowers. 

"  Nice,  cosy  place  this,"  remarked  Lorimer,  as  he  seated 
himself  negligently  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa.  "  You  must  be 
pretty  comfortable  here  ?  " 

Their  perspiring  and  affable  host  rubbed  his  soft  white 
bands  together  gently. 

'  I  thank  Heaven  it  suits  my  simple  needs,"  he  an- 
swered meekly.  "  Luxuries  do  not  become  a  poor  servant 
of  God." 

'  Ah,  then  your  are  different  to  many  others  who  profess 
to  serve  the  same  Master,"  said  Duprez  with  a  sourtre  Jin 
ihat  had  the  devil's  own  mockery  in  it.  "  Monsieur  le  bon 
Dieu  is  very  impartial!  Some  serve  Him  by  constant 
over-feeding,  others  by  constant  over-starving  ;  it  is  all  one 
10  Him  apparently  !  How  do  you  know  which  among  His 
servants  He  likes  best,  the  fat  or  the  lean  ?  " 

Sandy  Macfarlane,  though  slightly  a  bigot  for  his  own 
form  of  doctrine,  broke  into  a  low  chuckle  of  irrepressible 
lauguter  at  Duprez's  levity,  but  Mr.  Dyceworthy's  flabby 
face  betokened  the  utmost  horror. 

''  Sir  "  he  said  gravely,  "  there  are  subjects  concerning 
which  it  is  not  seemly  to  speak  without  due  reverence.  He 
knoweth  His  own  elect.  He  hath  chosen  them  out  from  the 
beginning  He  summoned  forth  from  the  million,  the  glor- 
ious apostle  of  reform,  Martin  Luther " 

"  Le  bon  yailiard  !  "  laughed  Duprez.  "  Tempted  by  a 
pretty  nun  !  What  man  could  resist !  Myself,  I  would 
try  to  upset  all  the  creeds  of  this  world  if  I  saw  a  pretty 
nun  worth  my  trouble.  Yes,  truly  !  A  pity  though,  that 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  41 

the  poor  Luther  died  of  over-eating ;  his  exit  from  life  was 
so  undignified  1  " 

"  Shut  up,  Duprez,"  said  Errington  severely.  "  You  dis- 
please Mr.  Dj-ceworthy  by  your  fooling." 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  mention  it,  Sir  Philip,"  murmured  the 
reverend  gentleman  with  a  mild  patience.  "  We  must  ac- 
custom ourselves  to  hear  with  forbearance  the  opinions  of 
all  men,  howsoever  contradictory,  otherwise  our  vocation  is 
of  no  avail.  Yet  is  it  sorely  grievous  to  me  to  consider 
that  there  should  be  any  person  or  persons  existent  who 
lack  the  necessary  faith  requisite  for  the  performance  of 
God's  promises." 

"  Ye  must  understand,  Mr.  Dyceworth}-,"  said  Macfar- 
lane  in  his  slow,  deliberate  manner,  "  that  ye  have  before  ye 
a  young  Frenchman  who  doesna  believe  in  onything  except 
himsel' — and  even  as  to  whether  he  himsel'  is  a  mon  or  a 
myth,  he  has  his  doots — vera  grave  doots." 

Duprez  nodded  delightedly.  "  That  is  so ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Our  dear  Sandy  puts  it  so  charmingly  !  To  be  a  myth 
seems  original, — to  be  a  mere  man,  quite  ordinary.  I  be- 
lieve it  is  possible  to  find  some  good  scientific  professor 
who  would  prove  me  to  be  a  myth — the  moving  shadow  of 
a  dream — imagine ! — how  perfectly  poetical  1 " 

u  You  talk  too  much  to  be  a  dream,  my  boy,"  laughed 
Errington,  and  turning  to  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  he  added,  "  I'm 
afraid  you  must  think  us  a  shocking  set.  We  are  really 
none  of  us  very  religious,  I  fear,  though,"  and  he  tried  to 
look  serious ;  "  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mr.  Lorimer,  we 
should  have  come  to  church  last  Sunday.  Mr.  Lorimer 
was,  unfortunately,  rather  indisposed." 

"  Ya-as  1  "  drawled  that  gentleman,  turning  from  the  lit- 
tle window  where  he  had  been  gathering  a  rose  for  his  but- 
ton-hole. "  I  was  knocked  up ;  had  fits,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing ;  took  these  three  fellows  all  -their  time  on  Sunday  to 
hold  me  down  !  " 

"  Dear  me !  "  and  Mr.  Dyceworthy  was  about  to  make 
further  inquiries  concerning  Mr.  Lorimer's  present  state  of 
health,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Ulrika  entered,  bearing 
a  large  tray  laden  with  wine  and  other  refreshments.  As 
she  set  it  down,  she  gave  a  keen,  covert  glance  round  the 
room,  as  though  rapidly  taking  note  of  the  appearance  and 
faces  of  all  the  young  men,  then,  with  a  sort  of  stiff  curk 
try,  she  departed  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  come, — not. 


42  THELMA. 

however,  without  leaving  a  disagreeable  impression  on 
Errington's  mind. 

"  Rather  a  stern  Phyllis,  that  waiting-inaid  of  yours," 
he  remarked,  watching  his  host,  who  was  carefully  drawing 
the  cork  from  one  of  the  bottles  of  wine. 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  smiled.  "  Oh,  no,  no  !  not  stern  at  all," 
he  answered  sweetly.  "  On  the  contrary,  most  affable  and 
kind-hearted.  Her  only  fault  is  that  she  is  a  little  zealous, 
— over-zealous  for  the  purity  of  the  faith ;  and  she  has  suf- 
fered much;  but  she  is  an  excellent  woman,  really  excel- 
lent !  Sir  Philip,  will  you  try  this  Lacriina  Christi  ?  " 

"  Lacriina  Christi !  "  exclaimed  Duprez.  "  You  do  not 
surely  get  that  in  Norway  ?  " 

"It  seems  strange,  certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Byceworthy, 
"  but  it  is  a  fact  that  the  Italian  or  Papist  wines  are  often 
used  here.  The  minister  whose  place  I  humbly  endeavor 
to  till  has  his  cellar  stocked  with  them.  The  matter  is  easy 
of  comprehension  when  once  explained.  The  benighted 
inhabitants  of  Italy,  a  land  lost  in  the  darkness  of  error, 
still  persist  in  their  fasts,  notwithstanding  the  evident  folly 
of  their  ways — and  the  Norwegian  sailors  provide  them 
with  large  quantities  of  fish  for  their  idolatrous  customs, 
bringing  back  their  wines  in  exchange." 

"  A  very  good  idea,"  said  Lorimer,  sipping  the  Lacriina 
with  evident  approval — "  Phil,  I  doubt  if  your  brands  on 
board  the  Eulalie  are  better  than  this." 

"  Hardly  so  good,"  replied  Errington  with  some  surprise, 
as  he  tasted  the  wine  and  noted  its  delicious  flavor.  "  The 
minister  must  be  a  fine  connoisseur.  Are  there  many  other 
families  about  here,  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  who  know  how  to 
choose  their  wines  so  well  ?  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  smiled  with  a  dubious  air. 

"  There  is  one  other  household  that  in  the  matter  of 
choice  liquids  is  almost  profanely  particular,"  he  said. 
"  But  they  are  people  who  are  ejected  with  good  reason 
from  respectable  society,  and, — it  behooves  me  not  to  speak 
of  their  names." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  said  Errington,  while  a  sudden  and  inex- 
plicable thrill  of  indignation  fired  his  blood  and  sent  it  in  a 
wave  of  color  up  to  his  forehead — "  May  I  ask " 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  Lorimer,  who,  nudging  him 
slyly  on  one  side,  muttered,  "  Keep  cool,  old  fellow  1  You 
can't  tell  whether  he's  talking  about  the  GUldmar  folk  I 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  43 

Be  quiet — you  don't  want  every  one  to  know  your  little 
game." 

Thus  adjured,  Philip  swallowed  a  large  gulp  of  wine,  to 
keep  down  his  feelings,  and  strove  to  appear  interested  in 
the  habits  and  caprices  of  bees,  a  subject  into  which  Mr. 
D3rceworthy  had  just  inveigled  Duprez  and  Macfarlane. 

"  Come  and  see  my  bees,"  said  the  Reverend  Charles  al- 
most pathetically.  *'  They  are  emblems  of  ever-working 
and  patient  industry, — storing  up  honey  for  others  to  par- 
take thereof." 

"  They  wudna  store  it  up  at  a',  perhaps,  if  they  knew 
that,"  observed  Sandy  significantly. 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  positively  shone  all  over  with  benefi- 
cence. 

"  They  tvould  store  it  up,  sir  ;  yes,  they  would,  even  if 
they  knew  !  It  is  God's  will  that  they  should  store  it  up  ; 
it  is  God's  will  that  they  should  show  an  example  of  unsel- 
fishness, that  they  should  flit  from  flower  to  flower  suck- 
ing therefrom  the  sweetness  to  impart  into  strange  palates 
unlike  their  own.  It  is  a  beautiful  lesson ;  it  teaches  us 
who  are  the  ministers  of  the  Lord  to  likewise  suck  the 
sweetness  from  the  flowers  of  the  living  gospel,  and  impart 
it  gladly  to  the  unbelievers  who  shall  find  it  sweeter  than 
the  sweetest  honey !  " 

And  he  shook  his  head  piously  several  times,  while  the 
pores  of  his  fat  visage  exuded  holy  oil.  Duprez  sniggered 
secretly.  Macfarlane  looked  preternaturally  solemn. 

"  Come,"  repeated  the  reverend  gentleman,  with  an  in- 
viting smile.  "  Come  and  see  my  bees, — also  my  straw- 
berries !  I  shall  be  delighted  to  send  a  basket  of  the  fruit 
to  the  yacht,  if  Sir  Philip  will  permit  me? " 

Errington  expressed  his  thanks  with  due  courtesy,  and 
hastened  to  seize  the  opportunity  that  presented  itself  for 
breaking  away  from  the  party. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  us  for  twenty  minutes  or  so,  Mr. 
Dyceworthy,"  he  said,  "  Lorimer  and  I  want  to  consult  a 
fellow  here  in  Bosekop  about  some  new  fishing  tackle.  We 
shan't  be  gone  long.  Mac,  you  and  Duprez  wait  for  us 
here.  Don't  commit  too  many  depredations  on  Mr.  Dyce- 
worthy's  strawberries." 

The  reason  for  their  departure  was  so  simply  and  nat- 
urally given,  that  it  was  accepted  without  any  opposing 
remarks.  Duprez  was  delighted  to  have  the  chance  of 
amusing  himself  by  harassing  the  Reverend  Charles  with 


44  THELMA. 

open  professions  of  utter  atheism,  and  Macfarlane,  who 
loved  an  argument  more  than  he  loved  whiskey,  looked  for- 
ward to  a  sharp  discussion  presently  concerning  the  super- 
iority of  John  Knox,  morally  and  physically,  over  Martin 
Luther.  So  that  when  the  others  went  their  way,  their  de- 
parture excited  no  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  their  friends, 
and  most  unsuspecting  of  all  was  the  placid  Mr.  Dyce- 
worthy,  who,  had  he  imagined  for  an  instant  the  direction 
which  they  were  going,  would  certainly  not  have  dis- 
coursed on  the  pleasures  of  bee-keeping  with  the  calmness 
and  placid  conviction,  that  always  distinguished  him  when 
holding  forth  on  any  subject  that  was  attractive  to  his 
mind.  Leading  the  way  through  his  dewy,  rosegrown  gar- 
den, and  conversing  amicably  as  he  went,  he  escorted  Mac- 
farlane and  Duprez  to  what  he  called  with  a  gentle  humor 
his  "  Bee-Metropolis,"  while  Errington  and  Lorimer  re- 
turned to  the  shore  of  the  Fjord,  where  they  had  left  their 
boat  moored  to  a  small,  clumsily  constructed  pier, — and 
entering  it,  they  set  themselves  to  the  oars  and  pulled 
away  together  with  the  long,  steady,  sweeping  stroke  ren- 
dered famous  by  the  exploits  of  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
men.  After  some  twenty  minutes'  rowing,  Lorimer  looked 
up  and  spoke  as  he  drew  his  blade  swiftly  through  the 
bright  green  water. 

"  I  feel  as  though  I  were  aiding  and  abetting  you  in 
some  crime,  Phil.  You  know,  my  first  impression  of  this 
business  remains  the  same.  You  had  much  better  leave  it 
alone." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Errington  cooily. 

"  Well,  'pon  my  life  I  don't  know  wh}%  Except  that, 
from  long  experience,  I  have  proved  that  it's  always  dan- 
gerous and  troublesome  to  run  after  a  woman.  Leave  her 
to  run  after  you — she'll  do  it  fast  enough." 

"  Wait  till  you  see  her.  Besides,  I'm  not  running  after 
any  woman,"  averred  Philip  with  some  heat. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — I  forgot.  She's  not  a  woman  ; 
she's  a  Sun-angel.  You  are  rowing,  not  running,  after  a 
Sun-angel.  Is  that  correct  ?  I  say,  don't  drive  through 
the  water  like  that ;  }^ou'll  pull  the  boat  round." 

Errington  slackened  his  speed  and  laughed.  ''  It's  only 
curiosit}',"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat,  and  pushing  back  the 
clustering  dark-brown  curls  from  his  brow.  "  I  bet  you 
that  sleek  Dycewortli}^  fellow  meant  the  old  bonde  and 
his  daughter,  when  he  spoke  of  persons  who  were  '  ejected  ' 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUtt.  45 

from  the  social  circles  of  Bosekop.     Fancy  Bosekop  soci- 
ety presuming  to  be  particular — what  an  absurd  idea  I  " 

"  My  good  fellow,  don't  pretend  to  be  so  deplorably  ig- 
norant !  Surely  you  know  that  a  trumpery  village  or  a 
twopenny  town  is  much  more  choice  and  exclusive  in  its 
'  sets '  than  a  great  city  ?  I  wouldn't  live  in  a  small 
place  for  the  world.  Every  inhabitant  would  know  the 
cut  of  my  clothes  by  heart,  and  the  number  of  buttons 
on  my  waistcoat.  The  grocer  would  copy  the  pattern  of 
my  trousers, — the  butcher  would  carry  a  cane  like  mine 
It  would  be  simply  insufferable.  To  change  the  subject, 
may  I  ask  you  if  you  know  which  way  you  are  going, 
for  it  seems  to  me  we're  bound  straight  for  a  smash  on 
that  uncomfortable-looking  rock,  where  there  is  certainly 
no  landing-place." 

Errington  stopped  pulling,  and,  standing  up  in  the  boat, 
began  to  examine  the  surroundings  with  keen  interest. 
They  were  close  to  the  great  crag  u  shaped  like  a  giant's 
helmet,"  as  Yaldemar  Svenson  had  said.  It  rose  sheer  out 
of  the  water,  and  its  sides  were  almost  perpendicular. 
Some  beautiful  star-shaped  sea  anemones  clung  to  it  in  a  vari- 
colored cluster  on  one  projection,  and  the  running  ripple  of 
the  small  waves  broke  on  its  jagged  corners  with  a  musical 
splash,  and  sparkle  of  white  foam.  Below  them,  in  the  em- 
erald mirror  of  the  Fjord,  it  was  so  clear  that  they  could 
see  the  fine  white  sand  lying  at  the  bottom,  sprinkled  thick 
with  shells  and  lithe  moving  creatures  of  all  shapes,  while 
every  now  and  then,  there  streamed  past  them,  brilliantly 
tinted  specimens  of  the  Medusa?,  with  their  long  feelers  or 
tendrils,  looking  like  torn  skins  of  crimson  and  azure  floss 
silk. 

The  place  was  very  silent ;  only  the  sea-gulls  circled 
round  and  round  the  summit  of  the  great  rock,  some  of 
them  occasionally  swooping  down  on  the  unwary  fishes,  their 
keen  eyes  perceived  in  the  waters  beneath,  then  up  again 
they  soared,  swaying  their  graceful  wings  and  uttering  at 
intervals  that  peculiar  wild  cry  that  .in  solitary  haunts 
sounds  so  intensely  mournful.  Errington  gazed  about  him 
in  doubt  for  some  minutes,  then  suddenly  his  face  bright 
ened.  He  sat  down  again  in  the  boat  and  resumed  his  oar. 

"  Row  quietly,  George,"  he  said  in  a  subdued  tone. 
"  Quietly— round  to  the  left." 

The  oars  dipped  noiselessly,  and  the  boat  shot  forward, — 
then  swerved  sharply  round  in  the  direction  indicated, — 


46  THELMA. 

and  there  before  them  lay  a  small  sandy  creek,  white  and 
shining  as  though  sprinkled  with  powdered  silver.  From 
this,  a  small  but  strongly-built  wooden  pier  ran  out  into  the 
sea.  It  was  carved  all  over  with  fantastic  figures,  and  in  it, 
at  equal  distances,  were  fastened  iron  rings,  such  as  are 
used  for  the  safe  mooring  of  boats.  One  boat  was  there  al- 
ready, and  Errington  recognized  it  with  delight.  It  was 
that  in  which  he  had  seen  the  mysterious  maiden  disappear. 
High  and  dry  on  the  sand,  out  of  reach  of  the  tides,  was  a 
neat  sailing-vessel ;  its  name  was  painted  round  the  stern 
—  The  Valkyrie. 

As  the  two  friends  ran  their  boat  on  shore,  and  fastened 
it  to  the  furthest  ring  of  the  convenient  pier,  they  caught 
the  distant  sound  of  the  plaintiff  "  coo-cooing  "  of  turtle 
doves. 

"  You've  done  it  this  time,  old  boy,"  said  Lorimer,  speak- 
ing in  a  whisper,  though  he  knew  not  why.  "  This  is  the 
old  bonders  own  private  landing-place  evidently,  and  here's  a 
footpath  leading  somewhere.  Shall  we  follow  it  ?  " 

Philip  emphatically  assented,  and,  treading  softly,  like 
the  trespassers  they  felt  themselves  to  be,  they  climbed  the 
ascending  narrow  way  that  guided  them  up  from  the  sea- 
shore, round  through  a  close  thicket  of  pines,  where  their 
footsteps  fell  noiselessly  on  a  thick  carpet  of  velvety  green 
moss,  dotted  prettily  here  and  there  with  the  red  gleam  of 
ripening  wild  strawberries.  Everything  was  intensely  still, 
and  as  yet  there  seemed  no  sign  of  human  habitation.  Sud- 
denly a  low  whirring  sound  broke  upon  their  ears,  and  Er- 
rington, who  was  a  little  in  advance  of  his  companion, 
paused  abruptly  with  a  smothered  exclamation,  and  drew 
back  on  tip-toe,  catching  Lorimer  by  the  arm. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  whispered  excitedly,  "  we've  come  right 
up  to  the  very  windows  of  the  house.  Look  !  " 

Lorimer  obeyed,  and  for  once,  the  light  jest  died  upon  his 
lips.  Surprise  and  admiration  held  him  absolutely  silent. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Elle  filait  et  sonriait — et  je  crois  qu'elle  enveloppa  mon  cceur 
avec  son  fil." — HEINE. 

BEFORE  them,  close  enough  for  their  outstretched  hands 
to  have  touched  it,  was  what  appeared  to  be  a  framed  pic- 
ture, exquisitely  painted, — a  picture  perfect  in  outline, 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  47 

matchless  in  color,  faultless  in  detail, — but  which  was  in 
reality  nothing  but  a  large  latticed  window  thrown  wide 
open  to  admit  the  air.  They  could  now  see  distinctly 
through  the  shadows  cast  by  the  statety  pines,  a  long,  low, 
rambling  house,  built  roughly,  but  strongly,  of  wooden  raf- 
ters, all  overgrown  with  green  and  blossoming  creepers  ; 
but  they  scarcely  glanced  at  the  actual  building,  so  strongly 
was  their  attention  riveted  on  the  one  window  before  them. 
It  was  surrounded  by  an  unusually  broad  framework,  curi- 
ously and  elaborately  carved,  and  black  as  polished  ebony. 
Flowers  grew  all  about  it, — sweet  peas,  mignonette,  and 
large  purple  pansies — while  red  and  white  climbing  roses 
rioted  in  untrained  profusion  over  its  wide  sill.  Above  it 
was  a  quaintly  built  dovecote,  where  some  of  the  strutting 
fan-tailed  inhabitants  were  perched,  swelling  out  their  snowy 
breasts,  and  discoursing  of  their  domestic  trials  in  notes  of 
dulcet  melancholy  ;  while  lower  down,  three  or  four  ring- 
doves nestled  on  the  roof  in  a  patch  of  sunlight,  spreading 
up  their  pinions  like  miniature  sails,  to  catch  the  warmth 
and  lustre. 

Within  the  deep,  shadowy  embrasure,  like  a  jewel  placed 
on  dark  velvet,  was  seated  a  girl  spinning, — no  other  than 
the  mysterious  maiden  of  the  shell  cavern.  She  was  attired 
in  a  plain,  straight  gown,  of  some  soft  white  woolen  stuff, 
cut  squarely  at  her  throat ;  her  round,  graceful  arms  were 
partially  bare,  and  as  the  wheel  turned  swiftly,  and  her 
slender  hands  busied  themselves  with  the  flax,  she  smiled, 
as  though  some  pleasing  thought  had  touched  her  mind. 
Her  smile  had  the  effect  of  sudden  sunshine  in  the  dark 
room  where  she  sat  and  span, — it  was  radiant  and  mirthful 
as  the  smile  of  a  happy  child.  Yet  her  dark  blue  eyes  re- 
mained pensive  and  earnest,  and  the  smile  soon  faded,  leav- 
ing her  fair  face  absorbed  and  almost  dreamy.  The  whirr- 
whirring  of  the  wheel  grew  less  and  less  rapid, — it  slack- 
ened,— it  stopped  altogether, — and,  as  though  startled  by 
some  unexpected  sound,  the  girl  paused  and  listened,  push- 
ing away  the  clustering  masses  of  her  rich  hair  from  her 
brow.  Then  rising  slowly  from  her  seat,  she  advanced  to 
the  window,  put  aside  the  roses  with  one  hand,  and  looked 
out, — thus  forming  another  picture  as  beautiful,  if  not  more 
beautiful,  than  the  first. 

Lorimer  drew  his  breath  hard.  "  I  say,  old  fellow,"  he 
whispered ;  but  Errington  pressed  his  arm  with  vice-like 
firmness,  as  a  warning  to  him  to  be  silent,  while  they  both 


48  THELMA. 

stepped  further  back  into  the  dusky  gloom  of  the  pine 
boughs. 

The  girl,  meanwhile,  stood  motionless,  in  a  half-expectant 
attitude,  and,  seeing  her  there,  some  of  the  doves  on  the 
roof  flew  down  and  strutted  on  the  ground  before  her,  coo- 
cooing  proudly,  as  though  desirous  of  attracting  her  atten- 
tion. One  of  them  boldly  perched  on  the  window-sill ;  she 
glanced  at  the  bird  musingly,  and  softl}7  stroked  its  opaline 
wings  and  shining  head  without  terrifying  it.  It  seemed 
delighted  to  be  noticed,  and  almost  lay  down  under  her 
hand  in  order  to  be  more  conveniently  caressed.  Still  gently 
smoothing  its  feathers,  she  leaned  further  out  among  the 
clambering  wealth  of  blossoms,  and  called  in  a  low,  pene- 
trating tone,  "  Father !  father  !  is  that  you  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer ;  and,  after  waited  a  minute  or  two, 
she  moved  and  resumed  her  former  seat,  the  stray  doves 
flew  back  to  their  customary  promenade  on  the  roof,  and 
the  drowsy  whirr-whirr  of  the  spinning-wheel  murmured 
again  its  monotonous  hum  upon  the  air. 

"  Come  on,  Phil,"  whispered  Lorimer,  determined  not  to 
be  checked  this  time ;  u  I  feel  perfectly  wretched !  It's 
mean  of  us  to  be  skulking  about  here,  as  if  we  were  a 
couple  of  low  thieves  waiting  to  trap  some  of  those  birds 
for  a  pigeon-pie.  Come  away, — you've  seen  her ;  that's 
enough." 

Errington  did  not  move.  Holding  back  a  branch  of  pine, 
he  watched  the  movements  of  the  girl  at  her  wheel  with 
absorbed  fascination. 

Suddenly  her  sweet  lips  parted,  and  she  sang  a  weird,  wild 
melody,  that  seemed,  like  a  running  torrent,  to  have  fallen 
from  the  crests  of  the  mountains,  bringing  with  it  echoes 
from  the  furthest  summits,  mingled  with  soil  wailings  of  a 
mournful  wind. 

Her  voice  was  pure  as  the  ring  of  fine  crystal — deep, 
liquid,  and  tender,  with  a  restrained  passion  in  it  that 
stirred  Errington 's  heart  and  filled  it  with  a  strange  unrest 
and  feverish  yearning, — emotions  which  were  new  to  him, 
and  which,  while  he  realized  their  existence,  moved  him  to 
a  sort  of  ashamed  impatience.  He  would  have  willingly 
left  his  post  of  observation  now,  if  only  for  the  sake  of 
shaking  off  his  unwonted  sensations  ;  and  he  took  a  step  or 
two  backwards  for  that  purpose,  when  Lorimer,  in  his  turn, 
laid  a  detaining  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  us  hear  the  song  through !  "  he 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  49 

said  in  subdued  tones.  "  What  a  voice  I  A  positive  golden 
flute  1 " 

His  rapt  face  betokened  his  enjoyment,  and  Errington, 
nothing  loth,  still  lingered,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  white- 
robed  slim  figure  framed  in  the  dark  old  rose-wreathed  win- 
dow— the  figure  that  swayed  softly  with  the  motion  of  the 
wheel  and  the  rhythm  of  the  song, — while  flickering  sun- 
beams sparkled  now  and  then  on  the  maiden's  dusky  gold 
hair,  or  touched  up  a  warmer  tint  on  her  tenderly  flushed 
cheeks,  and  fair  neck,  more  snowy  than  the  gown  she  wore. 
Music  poured  from  her  lips  as  from  the  throat  of  a  night- 
ingale. The  words  she  sang  were  Norwegian,  and  her  lis- 
teners understood  nothing  of  them ;  but  the  melody, — the 
pathetic  appealing  melody, — soul-moving  as  all  true  mel- 
ody must  be,  touched  the  very  core  of  their  hearts,  and 
entangled  them  in  a  web  of  delicious  reveries. 

"  Talk  of  Ary  Schelfer's  Gretchen  1 "  murmured  Lorimer 
with  a  sigh.  "  What  a  miserable,  pasty,  milk-and-watery 
young  person  she  is  beside  that  magnificent,  unconscious 
beauty!  1  give  in,  Phil  1  I  admit  your  taste.  I'm  willing 
to  swear  that  she's  a  Sun- Angel  if  you  like.  Her  voice  has 
convinced  me  of  that." 

At  that  instant  the  song  ceased.  Errington  turned  and 
regarded  him  steadfastly. 

"Are  you  hit,  George?"  he  said  softly,  with  a  forced 
smile. 

Lorimer's  face  flushed,  out  he  met  his  friend's  eyes 
frankly. 

"  I  am  no  poacher,  old  fellow,"  he  answered  in  the  same 
quiet  accents ;  "  I  think  you  know  that.  If  that  girl's 
mind  is  as  lovely  as  her  face,  I  say,  go  in  and  win  I  " 

Sir  Philip  smiled.  His  brow  cleared  and  an  expression 
of  relief  settled  there.  The  look  of  gladness  was  uncon- 
scious ;  but  Lorimer  saw  it  at  once  and  noted  it. 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  said  in  a  mirthful  undertone.  "  How  can 
I  go  in  and  win,  as  you  say  ?  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I  can't  go 
up  to  that  window  and  speak  to  her, — she  might  take  me 
for  a  thief." 

"  You  look  like  a  thief,"  replied  Lorimer,  surveying  his 
friend's  athletic  figure,  clad  in  its  loose  but  well-cut  yacht- 
ing suit  of  white  flannel,  ornamented  with  silver  anchor 
buttons,  and  taking  a  comprehensive  glance  from  the  easy 
pose  of  the  fine  head  and  handsome  face,  down  to  the  trim 
foot  with  the  high  and  well-arched,  instep.  u  very  much  like 


50  THELMA. 

a  thief  ?  I  wonder  I  haven't  noticed  it  before.  Any  London 
policeman  would  arrest  you  on  the  mere  fact  of  your  sus- 
picious appearance." 

Errington  laughed.  "  Well,  my  boy,  whatever  my  looks 
may  testify,  I  am  at  this  moment  an  undoubted  trespasser 
on  private  property, — and  so  are  you  for  that  matter.  What 
shall  we  do  ? " 

"  Find  the  front  door  and  ring  the  bell,"  suggested 
George  promptly.  "  Say  we  are  benighted  travellers 
and  have  lost  our  way.  The  bonde  can  but  flay  us. 
The  operation,  I  believe,  is  painful,  but  it  cannot  last 
long." 

"  George,  you  are  incorrigible  1  Suppose  we  go  back  and 
try  the  other  side  of  this  pine-wood  ?  That  might  lead  us 
to  the  front  of  the  house." 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  walk  coolly  past  that  win- 
dow," said  Lorimer.  "  If  any  observation  is  made  by  the 
fair  '  Marguerite '  yonder,  we  can  boldly  say  we  have  come 
to  see  the  bonde." 

Unconsciously  they  had  both  raised  their  voices  a  little 
during  the  latter  part  of  their  hasty  dialogue,  and  at  the 
instant  when  Lorimer  uttered  the  last  words,  a  heavy  hand 
was  laid  on  each  of  their  shoulders, — a  hand  that  turned 
them  round  forcibly  away  from  the  window  they  had  been 
gazing  at,  and  a  deep,  resonant  voice  addressed  them. 

"  The  bonde  ?  Truly,  young  men,  you  need  seek  no 
further,— I  am  Olaf  Giildmar  !  " 

Had  he  said,  u  I  am  an  Emperor !  "  he  could  not  have 
spoken  with  more  pride. 

Errington  and  his  friend  were  for  a  moment  speechless, — 
partly  from  displeasure  at  the  summary  manner  in  which 
they  had  been  seized  and  twisted  round  like  young  uprooted 
saplings,  and  partly  from  surprise  and  involuntary  admira- 
tion for  the  personage  who  had  treated  them  with  such 
scant  courtesy.  They  saw  before  them  a  man  somewhat 
above  the  middle  height,  who  might  have  served  an  aspir- 
ing sculptor  as  a  perfect  model  for  a  chieftain  of  old 
Gaul,  or  a  dauntless  Viking.  His  frame  was  firmly  and 
powerfully  built,  and  seemed  to  be  exceptionally  strong  and 
muscular  ;  yet  an  air  of  almost  courtly  grace  pervaded  his 
movements,  making  each  attitude  he  assumed  more  or  less 
picturesque.  He  was  broad-shouldered  and  deep-chested  ; 
his  face  was  full  and  healthily  colored,  while  his  head  was 
truly  magnificent.  Well-poised  and  shapely,  it  indicated 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  51 

power,  will,  and  wisdom  ;  and  was  furthermore  adorned  by 
a  rough,  thick  mass  of  snow-white  hair  that  shone  in  the 
sunlight  like  spun  silver.  His  beard  was  short  and  curly, 
trimmed  after  the  fashion  of  the  warriors  of  old  Rome  ;  and, 
from  under  his  fierce,  fuzz}' ,  grey  eyebrows,  a  pair  of  senti- 
nel eyes,  that  were  keen,  clear,  and  bold  as  an  eagle's, 
looked  out  with  a  watchful  steadiness — steadiness  that  like 
the  sharp  edge  of  a  diamond,  seemed  warranted  to  cut 
through  the  brittle  glass  of  a  lie.  J  urlging  by  his  outward 
appearance,  his  age  might  have  been  guessed  at  as  between 
fifty  -eight  and  sixty,  but  he  was,  in  truth,  seventy-two,  and 
more  strong,  active,  and  daring  than  many  another  man 
whose  3rears  are  not  counted  past  the  thirties.  He  waa 
curiously  attired,  after  something  of  the  fashion  of  the 
Highlander,  and  something  yet  more  of  the  ancient  G  reek ,  in  a 
tunic,  vest,  and  loose  jacket  all  made  of  reindeer  skin,  thickly 
embroidered  with  curious  designs  worked  in  coarse  thread 
and  colored  beads  ;  while  thrown  carelessly  over  his  shoul- 
ders and  knotted  at  his  waist,  was  a  broad  scarf  of  white 
woollen  stuff,  or  wadmel,  very  soft-looking  and  warm.  In 
his  belt  he  carried  a  formidable  hunting-knife,  and  as  he 
faced  the  two  intruders  on  his  groxmd,  he  rested  one  hand 
lightly  yet  suggestively  on  a  weighty  staff  of  pine,  which 
was  notched  all  over  with  quaint  letters  and  figures,  and 
terminated  in  a  curved  handle  at  the  top.  He  waited  for 
the  3roung  man  to  speak,  and  finding  they  remained  sil- 
ent, he  glanced  at  them  half  angrily  and  again  repeated 
his  words — 

"  I  am  the  bonde, — Olaf  Giildmar.  Speak  your  business 
and  take  your  departure ;  my  time  is  brief!  " 

Lorimer  looked  up  with  his  usual  nonchalance, — a  faint 
smile  playing  about  his  lips.  He  saw  at  once  that  the  old 
farmer  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with,  and  he  raised  his 
cap  with  a  ready  grace  as  he  spoke. 

"  Fact  is,"  he  said  frankly,  "  we've  no  business  here  at 
all — not  the  least  in  the  world.  We  are  perfectly  aware  of 
it !  We  are  tresspassers,  and  we  know  it.  Pray  don't  be 
hard  on  us,  Mr. — Mr.  Giildmar !  " 

The  bonde  glanced  him  over  with  a  quick  lightening  of 
the  eyes,  and  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  in  the  depths  of 
his  curly  beard.  He  turned  to  Errington. 

"Is  this  true?  You  came  here  on  purpose,  knowing 
the  ground  was  private  property  ?  " 

Errington,  in  his  turn,  lifted  his  cap  from  his  clustering 


52  THELMA. 

brown  curls  with  that  serene  and  stately  court  manner 
which  was  to  him  second  nature. 

"  We  did,"  he  confessed,  quietly  following  Lorimer's  cue, 
and  seeing  also  that  it  was  best  to  be  straightforward. 
"  We  heard  you  spoken  of  in  Bosekop,  and  we  came  to  see 
if  you  would  permit  us  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance." 

The  old  man  struck  his  pine-staff  violently  into  the 
ground,  and  his  face  flushed  wrathfully. 

"  Bosekop  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Talk  to  me  of  a  wasp's 
nest !  Bosekop !  You  shall  hear  of  me  there  enough  to 
satisfy  your  appetite  for  news.  Bosekop!  In  the  da}'s 
when  my  race  ruled  the  land,  such  people  as  they  that 
dwell  there  would  have  been  put  to  sharpen  my  sword  on 
the  grindstone,  or  to  wait,  hungry  and  humble,  for  the  re- 
fuse of  the  food  left  from  my  table !  " 

He  spoke  with  extraordinary  heat  and  passion, — it  was 
evident!}'  necessary  to  soothe  him.  Lorimer  took  a  covert 
glance  backward  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  lattice  win- 
dow, and  saw  that  the  white  figure  at  the  spinning-wheel 
had  disappeared. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Giildmar,"  he  then  said  with  polite  fervor, 
"  I  assure  you  I  think  the  Bosekop  folk  by  no  means  de- 
serve to  sharpen  your  sword  on  the  grindstone,  or  to  enjoy 
the  remains  of  your  dinner  1  M}rself,  I  despise  them  !  My 
friend  here,  Sir  Philip  Errington,  despises  them — don't  you, 
Phil  ? " 

Errington  nodded  demurely. 

"  What  my  friend  said  just  now  is  perfectly  true,"  con- 
tinued Lorimer.  "  We  desire  the  honor  of  your  acquaint- 
ance,— it  will  charm  and  delight  us  above  all  things !  " 

And  his  face  beamed  with  a  candid,  winning,  bo}rish 
smile,  which  was  very  captivating  in  its  own  way,  and 
which  certainly  had  its  effect  on  the  old  bonde,  for  his  tone 
softened,  though  he  said  gravely — 

"  My  acquaintance,  young  men,  is  never  sought  by  any. 
Those  who  are  wise,  keep  away  from  me.  I  love  not 
strangers,  it  is  best  you  should  know  it.  I  freely  pardon 
your  trespass  ;  take  your  leave,  and  go  in  peace." 

The  two  friends  exchanged  disconsolate  looks.  There 
really  seemed  nothing  for  it,  but  to  obey  this  unpleasing 
command.  Errington  made  one  more  venture. 

"  May  I  hope,  Mr.  Giildmar,"  he  said  with  persuasive 
courtesy,  "  that  you  will  break  through  your  apparent  rule 
of  seclusion  for  once  and  visit  me  on  board  my  yacht  ?  You 


THE  LAND  OF  TEE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  53 

have  no  doubt  seen  her — the  Eulalie — she  lies  at  anchor  in 
the  Fjord." 

The  bonde  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  I  have 
seen  her.  A  fair  toy  vessel  to  amuse  an  idle  young  man's 
leisure !  You  are  he  that  in  that  fool's  hole  of  a  Bosekop, 
is  known  as  the  '  rich  Englishman,' — an  idle  trifler  with 
time, — an  aimless  wanderer  from  those  dull  shores  where 
they  eat  gold  till  they  die  of  surfeit!  I  have  heard  of  you, 
— a  mushroom  knight,  a  fungus  of  nobilit}', — an  ephemeral 
growth  on  a  grand  decaying  old  tree,  whose  roots  lie  buried 
in  the  annals  of  a  far  forgotten  past." 

The  rich,  deep  voice  of  the  old  man  quivered  as  bespoke, 
and  a  shadow  of  melancholy  flitted  across  his  brow.  Er- 
rington  listened  with  unruffled  patience.  He  heard  himself, 
his  pleasures,  his  wealth,  his  rank,  thus  made  light  of, 
without  the  least  offense.  He  met  the  stead}-  gaze  of  the 
bonde  quietly,  and  slightly  bent  his  head  as  though  in 
deference  to  his  remarks. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  said  simphr.  "  We  modern 
men  are  but  pigmies  compared  with  the  giants  of  old  time. 
Royal  blood  itself  is  tainted  nowadays.  But,  for  ni3'self,  I 
attach  no  importance  to  the  mere  appurtenances  of  life, — 
the  baggage  that  accompanies  one  on  that  brief  journey. 
Life  itself  is  quite  enough  for  me." 

"  And  for  me  too,"  averred  Lorimer,  delighted  that  his 
friend  had  taken  the  old  farmer's  scornful  observations  so 
good-naturedly.  "  But,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Giildmar,  you 
are  making  life  unpleasant  for  us  just  now,  by  turning  us 
out?  The  conversation  is  becoming  interesting  !  Wiry  not 
prolong  it  ?  We  have  no  friends  in  Bosekop,  and  we  are 
to  anchor  here  for  some  days.  Surely  you  will  allow  us  to 
come  and  see  you  again  ?  " 

Olaf  Giildmar  was  silent.  He  advanced  a  step  nearer, 
and  studied  them  both  with  such  earnest  and  searching 
scrutiny,  that  as  they  remembered  the  real  attraction  that 
had  drawn  them  thither,  the  conscious  blood  mounted  to 
their  faces,  flushing  Errington's  forehead  to  the  very  roots  of 
his  curly  brown  hair.  Still  the  old  man  gazed  as  though 
he  sought  to  read  their  very  souls.  He  muttered  some- 
thing to  himself  in  Norwegian,  and,  finally,  to  their  utter 
astonishment,  he  drew  his  hunting-knife  from  its  sheath, 
and  with  a  rapid,  wild  gesture,  threw  it  on  the  ground  and 
placed  his  foot  upon  it. 

"  Be  it  so  J  "  he  said  briefly.    "  J  cover  the  btode !    You 


54  TBELMA. 

are  men  ;  like  men  you  speak  truth.  As  such,  I  receive 
you  !  Had  you  told  me  a  lie  concerning  your  coming  here, 
— had  you  made  pretense  of  having  lost  your  way,  or  other 
such  shifty  evasion,  your  path  would  never  have  again 
crossed  mine.  As  it  is, — welcome  !  " 

And  he  held  out  his  hand  with  a  sort  of  royal  dignity, 
still  resting  one  foot  on  the  fallen  weapon.  The  }-oung 
men,  struck  by  his  action  and  gratified  by  his  change  of 
manner  and  the  genial  expression  that  now  softened  his 
rugged  features,  were  quick  to  respond  to  his  friendly 
greeting,  and  the  bonde,  picking  up  and  re-sheathing  his 
hunting-knife  as  if  he  had  done  nothing  at  all  out  of  the 
common,  motioned  them  towards  the  very  window  on  which 
their  eyes  had  been  so  long  and  so  ardently  fixed. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said.  u  You  must  drain  a  cup  of  wine  with 
me  before  you  leave.  Your  unguided  footsteps  led  3-011  by 
the  wrong  path, — I  saw  your  boat  moored  to  m}'  pier,  and 
wondered  who-  had  been  venturesome  enough  to  trample 
through  my  woodland.  I  might  have  guessed  that  onl}-  a 
cotiple  of  idle  boys  like  yourselves,  knowing  no  better, 
would  have  pushed  their  way  to  a  spot  that  all  worthy 
dwellers  in  Bosekop,  and  all  true  followers  of  the  Lutheran 
devilry,  avoid  as  though  the  plague  were  settled  in  it." 

And  the  old  man  laughed,  a  splendid,  mellow  laugh,  with 
the  ring  of  true  jollity  in  it, — a  laugh  that  was  infectious, 
for  Brrington  and  Lorimer  joined  in  it  heartily  without 
precisely  knowing  wh}-.  Lorimer,  however,  thought  it 
seemly  to  protest  against  the  appellation  li  idle  boys." 

"  What  do  you  take  us  for,  sir  ?  "  he  said  with  lazy  good- 
nature. "  I  carry  upon  my  shoulders  the  sorrowful  burden 
of  twenty-six  years, — Philip,  there,  is  painfull}-  conscious 
of  being  thirty, — may  we  not  therefore  dispute  the  word 
'  boys  '  as  being  derogatoiy  to  our  dignity  ?  You  called  us 
'  men  '  a  while  ago, — remember  that !  " 

Olaf  Griildmar  laughed  again.  His  suspicious  gravity 
had  entirely  disappeared,  leaving  his  face  a  beaming  mirror 
of  beneficence  and  good- humor. 

"  So  you  are  men,"  he  said  cheerity,  "  men  in  the  bud, 
like  leaves  on  a  tree.  But  you  seem  bo}'s  to  a  tough  old 
stump  of  humanity  such  as  I  am.  That  is  my  way, — my 
child  Thelma,  though  they  tell  me  she  is  a  woman  grown, 
is  always  a  babe  tome.  'Tis  one  of  the  many  privileges  of 
the  old,  to  see  the  world  about  them  always  young  and  full 
of  children," 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  65 

And  he  led  the  way  past  the  wide-open  lattice,  where 
they  could  dimly  perceive  the  spinning-wheel  standing 
alone,  as  though  thinking  deeply  of  the  fair  hands  that  had 
lately  left  it  idle,  and  so  round  to  the  actual  front  of  the 
house,  which  was  exceedingly  picturesque,  and  literally 
overgrown  with  roses  from  ground  to  roof.  The  entrance 
door  stood  open  ; — it  was  surrounded  by  a  wide,  deep  porch 
richly  carved  and  grotesquely  ornamented,  having  two 
comfortable  seats  within  it,  one  on  each  side.  Through 
this  they  went,  involuntarily  brushing  down  as  they  passed, 
a  shower  of  pink  and  white  rose-leaves,  and  stepped  into  a 
wide  passage,  where  upon  walls  of  dark,  polished  pine, 
hung  a  large  collection  of  curiously  shaped  weapons,  all  of 
primitive  manufacture,  such  as  stone  darts  and  rough  axes, 
together  with  bows  and  arrows  and  two-handled  swords, 
huge  as  the  fabled  weapon  of  William  Wallace. 

Opening  a  door  to  the  right  the  bonde  stood  courteously 
aside  and  bade  them  enter,  and  they  found  themselves  in 
the  very  apartment  where  they  had  seen  the  maiden  spin- 
ning. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down  !  "  said  their  host  hospitably.  "  We 
will  have  wine  directly,  and  Thelma  shall  come  hither. 
Thelma!  Thelma!  Where  is  the  child?  She  wanders 
hither  and  thither  like  a  mountain  sprite.  Wait  here,  my 
lads,  I  shall  return  directly." 

And  he  strode  away,  leaving  Errington  and  Lorimer  de- 
lighted at  the  success  of  their  plans,  yet  somewhat  abashed 
too.  There  was  a  peace  and  gentle  simplicity  about  the 
little  room  in  which  they  were,  that  touched  the  chivalrous 
sentiment  in  their  natures  and  kept  them  silent.  On  one 
side  of  it,  half  a  dozen  broad  shelves  supported  a  goodly 
row  of  well-bound  volumes,  among  which  the  time-honored 
golden  names  of  Shakespeare  and  Scott  glittered  invitingly, 
together  with  such  works  as  Chapman's  Homer,  Byron's 
"Childe  Harold,"  the  Poems  of  John  Keats,  Gibbon's 
Rome,  and  Plutarch ;  while  mingled  with  these  were  the 
devotional  works  in  French  of  Alphonse  de  Liguori,  the 
"  Imitation,"  also  in  French, — and  a  number  of  books  with 
titles  in  Norwegian, — altogether  an  heterogenous  collection 
of  literature,  yet  not  without  interest  as  displaying  taste 
and  culture  on  the  part  of  those  to  whom  it  belonged.  Er- 
rington, himself  learned  in  books,  was  surprised'to  see  so 
many  standard  works  in  the  library  of  one  who  professed 
to  be  nothing  but  a  Norwegian  farmer,  and  his  respect  for 


56  THELMA. 

the  sturdy  old  bonde  increased.  There  were  no  pictures  in 
the  room, — the  wide  lattice  window  on  one  hand,  looking 
out  on  the  roses  and  pine-wood,  and  the  other  smaller  one, 
close  to  the  entrance  door,  from  which  the  Fjord  was  dis- 
tinctly visible,  were  sufficient  pictures  in  themselves,  to 
need  no  others.  The  furniture  was  roughly  made  of  pine, 
and  seemed  to  have  been  carved  by  hand, — some  of  the 
chairs  were  very  quaint  and  pretty  and  would  have  sold  in 
a  bric-a-brac  shop  for  more  than  a  sovereign  apiece.  On 
the  wide  mantle-shelf  was  a  quantity  of  curious  old  china 
that  seemed  to  have  been  picked  up  from  all  parts  of  the 
world, — most  of  it  was  undoubtedly  valuable.  In  one  dark 
corner  stood  an  ancient  harp  ;  then  there  was  the  spinning- 
wheel, — itself  a  curiosity  fit  for  a  museum, — testifying 
dumbly  of  the  mistress  of  all  these  surroundings,  and  on 
the  floor  there  was  something  else, — something  that  both 
the  young  men  were  strongly  inclined  to  take  posession  of. 
It  was  only  a  bunch  of  tiny  meadow  daisies,  fastened  to- 
gether with  a  bit  of  blue  silk.  It  had  fallen, — they  guessed 
by  whom  it  had  been  worn, — but  neither  made  any  remark, 
and  both,  by  some  strange  instinct,  avoided  looking  at  it, 
as  though  the  innocent  little  blossoms  carried  within  them 
some  terrible  temptation.  They  were  conscious  of  a  cer- 
tain embarrassment,  and  making  an  effort  to  break  through 
it,  Lorimer  remarked  softly — 

"  By  Jove,  Phil,  if  this  old  Giildmar  really  knew  what 
you  are  up  to,  I  believe  he  would  bundle  you  out  of  this 
place  like  a  tramp  !  Didn't  3'ou  feel  a  sneak  when  he  said 
we  had  told  the  truth  like  men  ?  " 

Philip  smiled  dreamily.  He  was  seated  in  one  of  the 
quaintly  carved  chairs,  half  absorbed  in  what  was  evidently 
a  pleasing  reverie. 

"  No ;  not  exactly,"  he  replied.  "  Because  we  did  tel) 
him  the  truth  ;  we  did  want  to  know  him,  and  he's  worth 
knowing  too  !  He  is  a  magnificent-looking  fellow  ;  don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  Rather  !  "  assented  Lorimer,  with  emphasis.  "  I  wish 
there  were  any  hope  of  my  becoming  such  a  fine  old  buffer 
in  my  decadence, — it  would  be  worth  living  for  if  only  to 
look  at  myself  in  the  glass  now  and  then.  He  rather  start- 
led mo  when  he  threw  down  that  knife,  though.  I  suppose 
it  is  some  old  Norwegian  custom  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Errington  answered,  and  then  was  silent, 
for  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  the  old  farmer  re- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  SI 

turned,  followed  by  a  girl  bearing  a  tray  glittering  with 
flasks  of  Italian  wine,  and  long  graceful  glasses  shaped  like 
round  goblets,  set  on  particularly  slender  stems.  The  sight 
of  the  girl  disappointed  the  eager  visitors,  for  though  she 
was  undeniabl}'  pretty,  she  was  not  Thelma.  She  was  short 
and  plump,  with  rebellious  nut-brown  locks,  that  rippled 
about  her  face  and  from  under  her  close  white  cap  with  per- 
sistent untidiness.  Her  heeks  were  as  round  and  red  as 
love-apples,  and  she  had  dancing  blue  eyes  that  appeared 
for  ever  engaged  in  good-natured  efforts  to  outsparkle  each 
other.  She  wore  a  spotless  apron,  lavishly  trimmed  with 
coquettish  little  starched  frills, — her  hands  were,  unfortu- 
nately, rather  large  and  coarse, — but  her  smile,  as  she  set 
down  the  tray  and  curtsied  respectfully  to  the  young  men, 
was  charming,  disclosing  as  it  did,  tiny  teeth  as  even  and 
white  as  a  double  row  of  small  pearls. 

u  That  is  well,  Britta,"  said  Giildmar,  speaking  in  Eng- 
lish, and  assisting  her  to  place  the  glasses.  "  Now,  quick  i 
.  run  after  thy  mistress  to  the  shore, — her  boat  can- 
not yet  have  left  the  creek, — bid  her  return  and  come  to  me, 
— tell  her  there  are  friends  here  who  will  be  glad  of  her 
presence." 

Britta  hurried  away  at  once,  but  Errington's  heart  sank. 
Thelma  had  gone ! — gone,  most  probably,  for  one  of  those 
erratic  journeys  across  the  Fjord  to  the  cave  where  he  had 
first  seen  her.  She  would  not  come  back,  he  felt  certain ; 
not  even  at  her  father's  request  would  that  beautiful,  proud 
maiden  consent  to  alter  her  plans.  What  an  unlucky  des- 
tiny was  his !  Absorbed  in  disappointed  reflections,  he 
scarcely  heard  the  enthusiastic  praises  Lorimer  was  diplo- 
matically bestowing  on  the  bonders  wine.  He  hardly  felt  its 
mellow  flavor  on  his  own  palate,  though  it  was  in  truth  de- 
licious, and  fit  for  the  table  of  a  monarch.  Giildmar  no- 
ticed the  young  baronet's  abstraction,  and  addressed  him 
with  genial  kindness. 

"  Are  you  thinking,  Sir  Philip,  of  my  rough  speeches  to 
you  yonder  ?  No  offense  was  meant,  no  offense !  .  .  ." 
the  old  fellow  paused,  and  laughed  over  his  wine-glass. 
'Yet  I  may  as  well  be  honest  about  it !  Offense  was 
meant ;  but  when  I  found  that  none  was  taken,  my  humor 
changed." 

A  slight,  half-weary  smile  played  on  Errington's  lips.  "  I 
assure  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  agreed  with  you  then  and  agree 
with  you  now  in  every  word  you  uttered.  You  took  my 


58  THELMA. 

measure  very  correctly,  and  allow  me  to  add  that  no  one 
can  be  more  conscious  of  my  own  insignificance  that  I  am 
myself.  The  days  we  live  in  are  insignificant ;  the  chron- 
icle of  our  paltry  doings  will  be  skipped  by  future  readers 
of  the  country's  history.  Among  a  society  of  particularly 
useless  men,  I  feel  myself  to  be  one  of  the  most  useless.  If 
you  could  show  me  any  way  to  make  my  life  valuable — 

He  paused  abruptly,  and  his  heart  beat  with  inexplicable 
rapidity.  A  light  step  and  the  rustle  of  a  dress  was  heard 
coming  through  the  porch ;  another  perfumed  shower  of 
rose-leaves  fell  softty  on  the  garden  path  ;  the  door  of  the 
room  opened,  and  a  tall,  fair,  white-robed  figure  shone  forth 
from  the  dark  background  of  the  outer  passage  ;  a  figure 
that  hesitated  on  the  threshold,  and  then  advanced  noise- 
lessly and  with  a  reluctant  shyness.  The  old  bonde  turned 
round  in  his  chair  with  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  here  she  is  !  "  he  said  fondly.  "  Where  hast  thou 
been,  my  Thelma  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"And  Sigurd  the  Bishop  said, 
'  The  old  gods  are  not  dead, 
For  the  great  Thor  still  reigns, 
And  among  the  Jarls  and  Thanes 
The  old  witchcraft  is  spread.'  " 

LONGFELLOW'S  Saga  of  King  Olaf. 

THE  girl  stood  silent,  and  a  faint  blush  crimsoned  her 
cheeks.  The  young  men  had  risen  at  her  entrance,  and  in 
one  fleeting  glance  she  recognized  Errington,  though  she 
gave  no  sign  to  that  effect. 

"  See,  my  darling,"  continued  her  father,  "  here  are  Eng- 
lish visitors  to  Norway.  This  is  Sir  Philip  Errington,  who 
travels  through  our  wild  waters  in  the  great  steam  yacht 
now  at  anchor  in  the  Fjord  ;  and  this  is  his  friend,  Mr. — • 
Mr. — Lorimer, — have  I  caught  your  name  rightl}7,  my  lad  ? " 
he  continued,  turning  to  George  Lorimer  with  a  kindly 
smile. 

"  You  have,  sir,"  answered  that  gentleman  promptly,  and 
then  he  was  mute,  feeling  curiously  abashed  in  the  presence 
of  this  royal-looking  young  lady,  who,  encircled  by  her 
father's  arm,  raised  her  deep,  dazzling  blue  eyes,  and 
serenely  bent  her  stately  head  to  him  as  his  name  was  men- 
tioned. 


TSE  LAND  Of  TSE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  5fl 

The  old  farmer  went  on,  "  Welcome  them,  Thelma  mine! 
. — friends  are  scarce  in  these  days,  and  we  must  not  be  un- 
grateful for  good  company.  What  I  what !  I  know  honest 
lads  when  I  see  them !  Smile  on  them,  my  Thelma ! — and 
then  we  will  warm  their  hearts  with  another  cup  of  wine." 

As  he  spoke,  the  maiden  advanced  with  a  graceful,  even 
noble  air,  and  extending  both  her  hands  to  each  of  the  visir- 
tors  in  turn,  she  said — 

"  I  am  your  servant,  friends ;  in  entering  this  house  you 
do  possess  it.  Peace  and  heart's  greeting !  " 

The  words  were  a  literal  translation  of  a  salutation  per- 
fectly common  in  many  parts  of  Norway — a  mere  ordinary 
expression  of  politeness ;  but,  uttered  in  the  tender,  pene- 
trating tones,  of  the  most  musical  voice  they  had  ever 
heard,  and  accompanied  by  the  warm,  frank,  double  hand- 
clasp of  those  soft,  small,  daintily  shaped  hands,  the  effect 
on  the  minds  of  the  generally  self-possessed,  fashionably 
bred  young  men  of  the  world,  was  to  confuse  and  bewilder 
them  to  the  last  degree.  What  could  they  answer  to  this 
poetical,  quaint  formula  of  welcome  ?  The  usual  ^  lati- 
tudes, such  as  "  Delighted,  I'm  sure  ;  "  or,  "  Most  happy — 
am  charmed  to  meet  you  ?  "  No ;  these  remarks,  deemed 
intelligent  by  the  lady  rulers  of  London  drawing-rooms, 
would,  they  felt,  never  do  here.  As  well  put  a  gentleman 
in  modern  evening  dress  en  face  with  a  half-nude  scorn- 
fully beautiful  statue  of  Apollo,  as  tro  out  threadbare,  in- 
sincere commonplaces  in  the  hearing  of  this  clear-eyed  child 
of  nature,  whose  pure,  perfect  face  seemed  to  silently  repel 
the  very  passing  shadow  of  a  falsehood. 

Philip's  brain  whirled  round  and  about  in  search  of  some 
suitable  reply,  but  could  find  none  ;  and  Lorimer  felt  him- 
self blushing  like  a  schoolboy,  as  he  stammered  out  some- 
thing incoherent  and  eminently  foolish,  though  he  had  sense 
enough  left  to  appreciate  the  pressure  of  those  lovely  hands 
as  long  as  it  lasted. 

Thelma,  however,  appeared  not  to  notice  their  deep  em- 
barrassment— she  had  not  yet  done  with  them.  Taking 
the  largest  goblet  on.  the  table,  she  filled  it  to  the  brim  with 
wine,  and  touched  it  with  her  lips, — then  with  a  smile  in 
which  a  thousand  radiating  sunbeams  seemed  to  quiver  and 
sparkle,  she  lifted  it  towards  Errington.  The  grace  of  her 
attitude  and  action  wakened  him  out  of  his  state  of  dreamy 
bewilderment — in  his  soul  he  devoutly  blessed  these  ancient 
Camily  customs,  and  arose  to  the  occasion  like  a  man. 


60  THELMA. 

Clasping  with  a  tender  reverence  the  hands  that  upheld  the 
goblet,  he  bent  his  handsome  head  and  drank  a  deep 
draught,  while  his  dark  curls  almost  touched  her  fair  ones, 
— and  then  an  insane  jealousy  possessed  him  for  a  moment, 
as  he  watched  her  go  through  the  same  ceremony  with 
Lorimer. 

She  next  carried  the  now  more  than  half-emptied  cup  to 
the  bonde,  and  said  as  she  helt  it,  laughing  softly — 

"  Drink  it  all,  father ! — if  you  leave  a  drop,  you  know 
these  gentlemen  will  quarrel  with  us,  or  you  with  them." 

"  That  is  true  !  "  said  Olaf  Guldmar  with  great  gravity  ; 
"  but  it  will  not  be  my  fault,  child,  nor  the  fault  of  wasted 
wine." 

And  he  drained  the  glass  to  its  dregs  and  set  it  upside 
down  on  the  table  with  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction  and  re- 
freshment. The  ceremony  concluded,  it  was  evident  the 
ice  of  reserve  was  considered  broken,  for  Thelma  seated 
herself  like  a  young  queen,  and  motioned  her  visitors  to  do 
the  same  with  a  gesture  of  gracious  condescension. 

"  How  did  you  find  your  way  here  ?  "  she  asked  with 
sweet,  yet  direct  abruptness,  giving  Sir  Philip  a  q  ick 
glance,  in  which  there  was  a  sparkle  of  mirth,  though  her 
long  lashes  veiled  it  almost  instantly. 

Her  entire  lack  of  stiffness  and  reserve  set  the  3*oung 
men  at  their  ease,  and  they  fell  into  conversation  freely, 
though  Errington  allowed  Lorimer  to  tell  the  story  of  their 
trespass  in  his  own  fashion  without  interference.  He  in- 
stinctively felt  that  the  3'oung  lady  who  listened  with  so 
demure  a  smile  to  th.  t  plausible  narrative,  knew  well 
enough  the  real  motive  that  had  brought  them  thither 
though  she  apparently  had  her  own  reasons  for  k  eping 
silence  on  the  point,  as  whatever  she  may  have  thoug  t,  she 
said  nothing. 

Lorimer  skillfully  avoided  betraying  the  fact  that  they 
had  watched  her  through  the  window,  and  had  listened  to 
her  singing.  And  Thelma  heard  all  the  explanations  pa- 
tiently till  Bosekop  was  mentioned,  and  then  her  fair  face 
grew  cold  and  stern. 

"  From  whom  did  you  hear  of  us  there  ?  "  she  inquired. 
"  We  do  not  mix  with  the  people, — why  should  they  speak 
of  us  ?  " 

"  The  truth  is,"  interposed  Errington,  resting  his  eyes 
with  a  sense  of  deep  delight  on  the  beautiful  rounded  figure 
lovely  features  that  were  turned  towards  him,  "  I 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  61 

heard  of  you  first  through  my  pilot — one  Valdemar 
Svensen." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  cried  old  Giildmar  with  some  excitement, 
"  there  is  a  fellow  who  cannot  hold  his  tongue  !  What  have 
I  said  to  thee,  child  ?  A  bachelor  is  no  better  than  a  gos- 
siping old  woman.  He  that  is  always  alone  must  talk,  if 
it  be  only  to  woods  and  waves.  It  is  the  married  men  who 
know  best  how  excellent  it  is  to  keep  silence !  " 

They  all  laughed,  though  Thelma's  eyes  had  a  way  of 
looking  pensive  even  when  she  smiled. 

"  You  would  not  blame  poor  Svensen  because  he  is  alone, 
father  ?  "  she  said.  "  Is  he  not  to  be  pitied  ?  Surely  it  is  a 
cruel  fate  to  have  none  to  love  in  all  the  wide  world.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  cruel !  " 

Giildmar  surveyed  her  humorously.  "  Hear  her !  "  he 
said.  u  She  talks  as  if  she  knew  all  about  such  things  ; 
and  if  ever  a  child  was  ignorant  of  sorrow,  surely  it  is  my 
Thelma !  Every  flower  and  bird  in  the  place  loves  her. 
Yes  ;  I  have  thought  sometimes  the  very  sea  loves  her.  It 
must ;  she  is  so  much  upon  it.  And  as  for  her  old  father  " 
— he  laughed  a  little,  though  a  suspicious  moisture  softened 
his  keen  eyes — '*  why,  he  doesn't  love  her  at  all.  Ask  herl 
She  knows  it." 

Thelma  rose  quickly  and  kissed  him.  How  deliciously 
those  sweet  lips  pouted,  thought  Errington,  and  what  an 
unreasonable  and  extraordinary  grudge  he  seemed  to  bear 
towards  the  venerable  bonde  for  accepting  that  kiss  with  so 
little  apparent  emotion  1 

"  Hush,  father  !  "  she  said.  "  These  friends  can  see  too 
plainly  how  much  you  spoil  me.  Tell  me," — and  she  turned 
with  a  sudden  prett/y  imperiousness  to  Lorimer,  who  started 
at  her  voice  as  a  racehorse  starts  at  its  rider's  touch, — 
u  what  person  in  Bosekop  spoke  of  us  ?  " 

Lorimer  was  rather  at  a  loss,  inasmuch  as  no  one  in  the 
small  town  had  actually  spoken  of  them,  and  Mr.  Dyce- 
worthy's  remarks  concerning  those  who  were  "  ejected  with 
good  reason  from  respectable  society,"  might  not,  after  all, 
have  applied  to  the  Giildmar  family.  Indeed,  it  now  seemed 
an  absurd  and  improbable  supposition.  Therefore  he  re- 
plied cautiously — 

"  The  Reverend  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  I  think,  has  some 
knowledge  of  you.  Is  he  not  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

These  simple  words  had  a  most  unexpected  effect.  Olaf 
Giildmar  sprang  up  .from  ius  seat  flaming  with  wrath.  It 


62  THELMA. 

was  in  vain  that  his  daughter  laid  a  restraining  hand  upon 
his  arm.  The  name  of  the  Lutheran  divine  had  sufficed  to 
put  him  in  a  towering  passion,  and  he  turned  furiousl}- 
upon  the  astonished  Errington. 

"  Had  I  known  you  came  from  the  devil,  sir,  you  should 
have  returned  to  him  speedily,  with  hot  words  to  hasten 
your  departure  1  I  would  have  split  that  glass  to  atoms  be- 
fore I  would  have  drained  it  after  you  !  The  friends  of  a 
false  heart  are  no  friends  for  me, — the  followers  of  a  pre- 
tended sanctity  find  no  welcome  under  my  roof!  Why  not 
have  told  me  at  once  that  you  came  as  spies,  hounded  on  by 
the  liar  Dyceworthy  ?  Why  not  have  confessed  it  openly  ? 
.  .  .  .  and  not  have  played  the  thief's  trick  on  an  old 
fool,  who,  for  once,  misled  by  your  manly  and  upright  bear- 
ing, consented  to  lay  aside  the  rightful  suspicions  he  at  first 
entertained  of  your  purpose  ?  Shame  on  3'ou,  young  men  1 
shame !  " 

The  words  coursed  impetuously  from  his  lips ;  his  face 
burned  with  indignation.  He  had  broken  away  from  his 
daughter's  hold,  while  she,  pale  and  very  still,  stood  leaning 
one  hand  upon  the  table.  His  white  hair  was  tossed  back 
from  his  brow  ;  his  eyes  flashed  ;  his  attitude  though  venge- 
ful and  threatening,  was  at  the  same  time  so  bold  and  com- 
manding that  Lorimer  caught  himself  lazily  admiring  the 
contour  of  his  figure,  and  wondering  how  he  would  look  in 
marble  as  an  infuriated  Viking. 

One  excellent  thing  in  the  dispositions  of  both  Errington 
and  Lorimer  was  that  they  never  lost  temper.  Either  they 
were  too  lazy  or  too  well-bred.  Undoubtedly  they  both 
considered  it  "  bad  form."  This  indifference  stood  them  in 
good  stead  now.  They  showed  no  sign  whatever  of  offense, 
though  the  old  farmer's  outbreak  of  wrath  was  so  sudden 
and  unlocked  for,  that  the}'  remained  for  a  moment  silent 
out  of  sheer  surprise.  Then  rising  with  unruffled  serenity, 
they  took  up  their  caps  preparatory  to  departure.  Erring- 
ton's  gentle,  refined  voice  broke  the  silence. 

"  You  are  in  error,  Mr.  Guidmar,"  he  said  in  chilly  but 
perfectly  polite  tones.  "  I  regret  you  should  be  so  hasty  in 
your  judgment  of  us.  If  you  accepted  us  as  '  men  '  when 
you  first  met  us,  I  cannot  imagine  why  you  should  now 
take  us  for  spies.  The  two  terms  are  by  no  means  synony- 
mous. I  know  nothing  of  Mr.  Dyceworthy  beyond  that  he 
called  upon  me,  and  that  I,  as  in  duty  bound,  returned  his 
call.  I  am  ignorant  of  his  character  and  disposition,  J 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  63 

may  add  that  I  have  no  desire  to  be  enlightened  respecting 
them.  I  do  not  often  take  a  dislike  to  anybody,  but  it  so 
happens  that  I  have  done  so  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Dyceworthy. 
I  know  Lori  me  r  doesn't  care  for  him,  and  I  don't  think  my 
other  two  friends  are  particularly  attached  to  him.  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say,  except  that  I  fear  we  have  outstayed 
our  welcome.  Permit  us  now  to  wish  3*011  good  evening. 
And  you," — he  hesitated,  and  turned  with  a  low  bow  to 
Thelma,  who  had  listened  to  his  words  with  a  gradually 
dawning  brightness  on  her  face — "  you  will,  I  trust,  exon- 
erate us  from  any  intentional  offense  towards  your  father 
or  yourself?  Our  visit  has  proved  unlucky,  but — " 

Thelma  interrupted  him  by  laying  her  fair  little  hand  on 
his  arm  with  a  wistful,  detaining  gesture,  which,  though 
seemingl}'  familiar,  was  yet  perfectly  sweet  and  natural.  The 
light  touch  thrilled  his  blood,  and  sent  it  coursing  through 
his  veins  at  more  than  customary  speed. 

"  Ah,  then,  you  also  will  be  foolish  !  "  she  said,  with  a 
naive  protecting  air  of  superior  dignity.  "  Do  you  not  see 
my  father  is  sorry  ?  Have  we  all  kissed  the  cup  for  nothing, 
or  was  the  wine  wasted  ?  Not  a  drop  was  spilt ;  how  then, 
if  we  are  friends  should  we  part  in  coldness  ?  Father,  it 
is  you  to  be  ashamed, — not  these  gentleman,  who  are 
strangers  to  the  Altenfjord,  and  know  nothing  of  Mr. 
Dyceworthy,  or  an  other  person  dwelling  here.  And  when 
their  vessel  sails  away  again  over  the  wide  seas  to  their  own 
shores,  how  will  you  have  them  think  of  }TOU  ?  As  one  whose 
heart  was  all  kindness,  and  who  helped  to  make  their  days 
pass  pleasantly  ?  or  as  one  who,  in  unreasonable  anger,  for- 
got the  duties  of  sworn  hospitality  ?  " 

The  bonde  listened  to  her  full,  sweet,  reproachful  voice  as 
a  tough  old  lion  might  listen  to  the  voice  of  its  tamer,  un- 
certain whether  to  yield  or  spring.  He  wiped  his  heated 
brow  and  stared  around  him  shamefacedly.  Finally,  as 
though  swallowing  his  pride  with  a  gulp,  he  drew  a  long 
breath,  took  a  couple  of  determined  strides  forward,  and 
held  out  his  hands,  one  to  Errington  and  the  other  to 
Lorimer,  by  whom  they  were  warmly  grasped. 

"  There,  my  lads,"  he  said  rapidly.  "  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  ! 
Forgive  and  forget !  That  is  the  worst  of  me — my  blood  is 
up  in  a  minute,  and  old  though  I  am,  I'm  not  old  enough 
yet  to  be  patient.  A  nd  when  I  hear  the  name  of  that  sneak 
Dyceworthy — by  the  gates  of  Valha-lla,  I  feel  as  if  my  own 
bouse  would  not  bold  me !  No,  no ;  don't  go  yet  I  Nearly 


64  THELMA. 

ten  ?  Well,  no  matter,  the  night  is  like  the  day  here,  you 
see — it  doesn't  matter  when  one  goes  to  bed.  Come  and  sit 
in  the  porch  awhile ;  I  shall  get  cool  out  there.  Ah,  Thelma, 
child  1  I  see  thee  laughing  at  thy  old  father's  temper ! 
Never  mind,  never  mind  ;  is  it  not  for  th}1  sake  after  all  ? '' 

And,  holding  Errington  by  the  arm,  he  led  the  way  into 
the  fine  old  porch,  Lorimer  following  with  rather  a  flushed 
face,  for  he,  as  he  passed  out  of  the  room,  had  managed  to 
pick  up  and  secrete  the  neglected  little  bunch  of  daisies,  be- 
fore noticed  as  having  fallen  on  the  floor.  He  put  them 
quickly  in  his  breast  pocket  with  a  curious  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion, though  he  had  no  intention  of  keeping  them,  and 
leaned  idly  against  the  clambering  roses,  watching  Thelma, 
as  she  drew  a  low  stool  to  her  father's  feet  and  sat  there. 
A  balmy  wind  blew  in  from  the  Fjord,  and  rustled  mysteri- 
ously among  the  pines ;  the  sky  was  flecked  here  and  there 
with  fleecy  clouds,  and  a  number  of  birds  were  singing  in 
full  chorus.  Old  Giildmar  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  as 
though  his  recent  outburst  of  passion  had  done  him  good. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Sir  Philip,"  he  said,  ruffling  his 
daughter's  curls  as  he  spoke, — "  I  will  tell3'ou  why  I  detest 
the  villian  Dyceworthy.  It  is  but  fair  you  should  know  it. 
Now,  Thelma  ! — why  that  push  to  my  knee  ?  You  fear  I 
may  offend  our  friends  again  ?  Nay.  I  will  take  good  care. 
And  so,  first  of  all,  1  ask  you,  what  is  your  religion? 
Though  I  know  3-011  cannot  be  Lutherans." 

Errington  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  question. 
He  smiled. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  replied  at  last ;  "  to  be  frank  with  you, 
I  really  do  not  think  I  have  any  religion.  If  I  had,  I  sup- 
pose I  should  call  myself  a  Christian,  though,  judging  from 
the  behavior  of  Christians  in  general,  I  cannot  be  one  of 
them  after  all, — for  I  belong  to  no  sect,  I  go  to  no  church, 
and  I  have  never  read  a  tract  in  my  life.  I  have  a  profound 
reverence  and  admiration  for  the  character  and  doctrine  of 
Christ,  and  I  believe  if  I  had  had  the  privilege  of  knowing 
and  conversing  with  Him,  I  should  not  have  deserted  Him 
in  extremity  as  his  timoixnis  disciples  did.  I  believe  in  an 
all-wise  Creator;  so  you  see  I  am  not  an  atheist.  My 
mother  was  an  Austrian  and  a  Catholic,  and  I  have  a  notion 
that,  as  a  small  child,  I  was  brought  up  in  that  creed  ;  but 
I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  much  about  it  now." 

The  bonde  nodded  gravely.  "  Thelma,  here,"  he  said, "  is 
a  Catholic,  as  her  mother  was — "  he  stopped  abruptly,  and 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  6ft 

a  deep  shadow  of  pain  darkened  his  features.  Thelma 
looked  up, — her  large  blue  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears, 
and  she  pressed  her  fathers  hand  between  her  own,  as 
though  in  sympathy  with  some  undeclared  grief;  then  she 
looked  at  Errington  with  a  sort  of  wistful  appeal.  Philip's 
heart  leaped  as  he  met  that  soft  beseeching  glance,  which 
seemed  to  entreat  his  patience  with  the  old  man  for  her 
sake, — he  felt  himself  drawn  into  a  bond  of  union  with  her 
thoughts,  and  in  his  innermost  soul  he  swore  as  knightly  a 
vow  of  chivalry  and  reverence  for  the  fair  maiden,  who  thus 
took  him  into  her  silent  confidence,  as  though  he  were 
some  gallant  Crusader  of  old  time,  pledged  to  defend  his 
lady's  honor  unto  death.  Olaf  Guldmar,  after  a  long  and 
apparently  sorrowful  pause,  resumed  his  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  Thelma  is  a  Catholic,  though  here  she 
has  scarcely  any  opportunity  for  performing  the  duties  of 
her  religion.  It  is  a  pretty  and  a  graceful  creed, — well 
fitted  for  women.  As  for  me,  I  am  made  of  sterner  stuff, 
and  the  maxims  of  that  gentle  creature,  Christ,  find  no 
echo  in  my  soul.  But  3rou,  young  sir,"  he  added,  turning 
suddenly  on  Lorimer,  who  was  engaged  in  meditatively 
smoothing  out  on  his  palm  one  of  the  fallen  rose-petals — 
"  you  have  not  spoken.  What  faith  do  you  profess  ?  It 
is  no  curiosity  that  prompts  me  to  ask, — I  only  seek  not  to 
offend/' 

Lorimer  laughed  languidly.  "  Upon  my  life,  Mr.  Guld- 
mar, you  really  ask  too  much  of  me.  I  haven't  any  faith 
at  all ;  not  a  shred  !  It's  been  all  knocked  out  of  me.  I 
tried  to  hold  on  to  a  last  remaining  bit  of  Christian  rope  in 
the  universal  ship-wreck,  but  that  was  torn  out  of  my 
hands  by  a  scientific  professor,  who  ought  to  know  what  he 
is  about,  and — and — now  I  drift  along  anyhow  1 " 

Guldmar  smiled  dubiously  ;  but  Thelma  looked  at  the 
speaker  with  astonished,  regretful  eyes. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  simply.  "  You  must  be  often  un- 
happy." 

Lorimer  was  not  disconcerted,  though  her  evident  pity 
caused  an  unwonted  flush  on  his  face. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  said  in  answer  to  her,  "  I  am  not  a  miserable 
sort  of  fellow  by  any  means.  For  instance,  I'm  not  afraid 
of  death, — lots  of  very  religious  people  are  horribly  afraid 
of  it,  though  they  all  the  time  declare  it's  the  only  path  to 
heaven.  They're  not  consistent  at  all.  You  see  I  believe 
5 


66  THELMA. 

in  nothing, — I  came  from  nothing, — I  am  nothing, — I  shall 
be  nothing.  That  being  plain,  I  am  all  right." 

Giildmar  laughed.  "  You  are  an  odd  lad,"  he  said  good, 
humoredly.  "  You  are  in  the  morning  of  life  ;  there  are 
always  mists  in  the  morning  as  there  are  in  the  evening. 
In  the  light  of  your  full  manhood  you  will  see  these  things 
differently.  Your  creed  of  Nothing  provides  no  moral  law, 
— no  hold  on  the  conscience,  no  restraint  on  the  passions, — 
don't  you  see  that  ?  " 

Lorimer  smiled  with  a  very  winning  and  boyish  candor. 
"  You  are  exceedingly  good,  sir,  to  credit  me  with  a  con- 
science !  I  don't  think  I  have  one, — I'm  sure  I  have  no 
passions.  I  have  always  been  too  lazy  to  encourage  them, 
and  as  for  moral  law, — I  adhere  to  morality  with  the  great- 
est strictness,  because  if  a  fellow  is  immoral,  he  ceases  to  be 
a  gentleman.  Now,  as  there  are  very  few  gentlemen  nowa* 
days,  I  fancy  I'd  like  to  be  one  as  long  as  I  can." 

Errington  here  interposed.  "  You  mustn't  take  him 
seriously.  Mr.  Giildmar,"  he  said ;  "  he's  never  serious 
himself,  I'll  give  you  his  character  in  a  few  words.  He 
belongs  to  no  religious  party,  it's  true, — but  he's  a  first- 
rate  fellow, — the  best  fellow  I  know  !  " 

Lorimer  glanced  at  him  quietly  with  a  gratified  expres- 
sion on  his  face.  But  he  said  nothing,  for  Thelma  was  re- 
garding him  with  a  most  bewitching  smile. 

"  Ah  ! "  she  said,  shaking  a  reproachful  finger  at  him, 
"  you  do  love  all  nonsense,  that  I  can  see !  You  would 
make  every  person  laugh,  if  you  could, — is  it  not  so?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  admitted  George,  "  I  think  I  would  !  But 
it's  a  herculean  task  sometimes.  If  you  had  ever  been  to 
London,  Miss  Giildmar,  yon  would  understand  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  make  people  even  smile, — and  when  they  do, 
the  smile  is  not  a  very  natural  one." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  exclaimed.     "  Are  they  all  so  miserable  ?  " 

"  They  pretend  to  be,  if  they're  not,"  said  Lorimer  ;  "  it 
is  the  fashion  there  to  find  fault  with  everything  and  every- 
body." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Giildmar  thoughtfully.  "  I  visited 
London  once  and  thought  I  was  in  hell.  Nothing  but  rows 
of  hard,  hideously  built  houses,  long  streets,  and  dirty 
alleys,  and  the  people  had  weary  faces  all,  as  though  Nature 
had  refused  to  bless  them.  A  pitiful  city, — doubly  pitiful 
to  the  eyes  of  a  man  like  myself,  whose  lifu  has  been  passed 
amyng  fjords  and  mountains  such  as  these.  Well,  now,  as 


TEE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  67 

neither  of  you  are  Lutherans, — in  fact,  as  neither  of  you 
seem  to  know  what  you  are,"  and  he  laughed,  "  I  can  be 
frank,  and  speak  out  as  to  ray  own  belief.  I  am  proud  to 
say  I  have  never  deserted  the  faith  of  my  fathers,  the  faith 
that  makes  a  man's  soul  strong  and  fearless,  and  defiant  of 
evil, — the  faith  that  is  supposed  to  be  crushed  out  among 
us,  but  that  is  still  alive  and  rooted  in  the  hearts  of  many 
who  can  trace  back  their  lineage  to  the  ancient  Vikings  as 
I  can, — yes! — rooted  firm  and  fast, — and  however  much 
some  of  the  more  timorous  feign  to  conceal  it,  in  the  tacit  ac- 
ceptance of  another  creed,  there  are  those  who  can  never 
shake  it  off,  and  who  never  desire  to  forsake  it.  I  am  one 
of  these  few.  Shame  must  fall  on  the  man  who  willfully 
deserts  the  faith  of  his  warrior-ancestry !  Sacred  to  me  for 
ever  be  the  names  of  Odin  and  Thor  I  " 

He  raised  his  hand  aloft  with  a  proud  gesture,  and  his 
eyes  flashed.  Errington  was  interested,  but  not  surprised : 
the  old  bonders  declaration  of  his  creed  seemed  eminently 
fitted  to  his  character.  Lorimer's  face  brightened, — here 
was  a  novelty — a  man,  who  in  all  the  conflicting  storms  of 
modern  opinion,  sturdily  clung  to  the  traditions  of  his 
forefathers. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed  eagerly,  "  I  think  the  worship 
of  Odin  would  suit  me  perfectly  1  It's  a  rousing,  fighting 
sort  of  religion, — I'm  positive  it  would  make  a  man  of  me. 
Will  you  initiate  me  into  the  mysteries,  Mr.  Giildmar  ? 
There's  a  fellow  in  London  who  writes  poetry  on  Indian 
subjects,  and  who,  it  is  said,  thinks  Buddhism  might  satisfy 
his  pious  3'earnings, — but  I  think  Odin  would  be  a  per- 
sonage to  command  more  respect  than  Buddha, — at  any 
rate,  I  should  like  to  try  him.  Will  you  give  me  a 
chance  ?  " 

Olaf  Giildmar  smiled  gravely,  and  rising  from  his  seat, 
pointed  to  the  western  sky. 

"  See  yonder  threads  of  filmy  white,"  he  said,  "  that 
stretch  across  the  wide  expanse  of  blue  I  They  are  the 
lingering,  fading  marks  of  light  clouds, — and  even  while 
we  watch  them,  they  shall  pass  and  be  no  more.  Such  is 
the  emblem  of  your  life,  young  man — you  that  would,  for 
an  idle  jest  or  pastime,  presume  to  search  into  the  mys- 
teries of  Odin !  For  you  they  are  not, — your  spirit  is  not 
of  the  stern  mould  that  waits  for  death  as  gladly  as  the 
bridegroom  waits  for  the  bride !  The  Christian  heaven  ia 
an  abode  for  girls  and  babes, — Valhalla  is  the  place  for 


68  THELMA. 

men !  I  tell  you,  my  creed  is  as  divine  in  its  origin  as  any 
that  ever  existed  on  the  earth  !  The  Rainbow  Bridge  is  a 
fairer  pathway  from  death  to  life  than  the  doleful  Cross, — 
and  better  far  the  dark  summoning  eyes  of  a  beauteous 
Valkyrie,  than  the  grinning  skull  and  cross-bones,  the 
Christian  emblem  of  mortality.  Thelma  thinks, — and  her 
mother  before  her  thought  also, — that  different  as  my  way 
of  belief  is  to  the  accepted  new  creeds  of  to-day,  it  will  be 
all  right  with  me  in  the  next  world — that  I  shall  have  as 
good  a  place  in  heaven  as  any  Christian.  It  may  be  so, — 
I  care  not !  But  see  you, — the  key-note  of  all  the  civil- 
ization of  to-day  is  discontent,  while  I, — thanks  to  the 
gods  of  my  fathers,  am  happy,  and  desire  nothing  that  I 
have  not." 

He  paused  and  seemed  absorbed.  The  young  men  watched 
his  fine  inspired  features  with  lively  interest.  Thelma's 
head  was  turned  away  from  them  so  that  her  face  was  hid- 
den. B}r-and-by  he  resumed  in  quieter  tones — 

"  Now,  my  lads,  you  know  what  we  are — both  of  us  ac- 
cursed in  the  opinion  of  the  Lutheran  community.  My 
child  belongs  to  the  so-called  idolatrous  Church  of  Rome. 
I  am  one  of  the  very  last  of  the  '  heathen  barbarians,'  " — 
and  the  old  fellow  smiled  sarcastically,  "  though,  truth  to 
tell,  for  a  barbarian,  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  some  folks 
would  have  you  think.  If  the  snuffling  Dyceworthy  and  I 
competed  at  a  spelling  examination,  I'm  pretty  sure  'tis  I 
would  have  the  prize  1  But,  as  I  said, — you  know  us, — 
and  if  our  ways  are  likely  to  offend  }rou,  then  let  us  part 
good  friends  before  the  swords  are  fairly  drawn." 

"  No  sword  will  be  drawn  on  my  side,  I  assure  you,  sir," 
said  Errington,  advancing  and  laying  one  hand  on  the 
bonders  shoulder.  "  I  hope  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say 
I  shall  esteem  it  an  honor  and  a  privilege  to  knew  more  of 
you." 

"  And  though  you  won't  accept  me  as  a  servant  of  Odin," 
added  Lorimer,  "  you  really  cannot  prevent  me  from  trying 
to  make  myself  agreeable  to  you.  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Giild- 
mar,  I  shall  visit  you  pretty  frequently  1  Such  men  as  you 
are  not  often  met  with." 

Olaf  Giildmar  looked  surprised.  "  You  really  mean  it  ?  " 
he  said.  "  Nothing  that  I  have  told  you  affects  you  ?  You 
still  seek  our  friendship  ?  " 

They  both  earnestly  assured  him  that  they  did,  and  a? 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  69 

they  spoke  Thelma  rose  from  her  low  seat  and  faced  them 
with  a  bright  smile. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  the  first  people 
who,  on  visiting  us  once,  have  ever  cared  to  come  again  ? 
Ah,  you  look  surprised,  but  it  is  so,  is  it  not,  father  ? '' 

Giildmar  nodded  a  grave  assent. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued  demurely,  counting  on  her  little 
white  fingers,  "  we  are  three  things — first,  we  are  accursed  ; 
secondly,  we  have  the  evil  eye ;  thirdly,  we  are  not  respect- 
able !  " 

And  she  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  ringing  and 
sweet  as  a  chime  of  bells.  The  3'oung  men  joined  her  in 
it ;  and,  still  with  au  amused  expression  on  her  lovely  face, 
leaning  her  head  back  against  a  cluster  of  pale  roses,  she 
went  on — 

"  My  father  dislikes  Mr.  Dyceworthy  so  much,  because  he 
wants  to — to — oh,  what  is  it  they  do  to  savages,  father  ? 
Yes,  I  know, — to  convert  us, — to  make  us  Lutherans.  And 
•when  he  finds  it  all  no  use,  he  is  angry  ;  and,  though  he  is 
so  religious,  if  he  hears  any  one  telling  some  untruth  about 
us  in  Bosekop,  he  will  add  another  thing  equally  untrue, 
and  so  it  grows  and  grows,  and — why  !  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you  ?  "  she  exclaimed  in  surprise  as  Errington 
scowled  and  clenched  his  fist  in  a  peculiarly  threatening 
manner. 

"  I  should  like  to  knock  him  down !  "  he  said  briefly  under 
his  breath. 

Old  Giildmar  laughed  and  looked  at  the  young  baronet 
approvingly. 

"  Who  knows,  who  knows !  "  he  said  cheerfully.  "  You 
may  do  it  some  day  !  It  will  be  a  good  deed  !  I  will  do  it 
myself  if  he  troubles  me  much  more.  And  now  let  us  make 
some  arrangement  with  you.  When  will  you  come  and  see 
us  again  ?  " 

"  You  must  visit  me  first,"  said  Sir  Philip  quickly.  "  If 
you  and  3-0111-  daughter  will  honor  me  with  your  company 
to-morrow,  I  shall  be  proud  and  pleased.  Consider  the 
yacht  at  your  service." 

Thelma,  resting  among  the  roses,  looked  across  at  him 
with  serious,  questioning  eyes — eyes  that  seemed  to  be  ask- 
ing his  intentions  towards  both  her  and  her  father. 

Giildmar  accepted  the  invitation  at  once,  and,  the  hour 
for  their  visit  next  day.  being  fixed  and  agreed  upon,  the 
young  men  began  to  take  their  leave.  As  Errington 


70  THELMA. 

clasped  Thelma's  hand  in  farewell,  he  made  a  bold  venture 
He  touched  a  rose  that  hung  just  above  her  head  almost 
dropping  on  her  hair. 

"  May  I  have  it  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

Their  eyes  met.  The  girl  flushed  deeply,  and  then  grew 
pale.  She  broke  off  the  flower  and  gave  it  to  him, — then 
turned  to  Lorimer  to  say  goodie.  They  left  her  then, 
standing  under  the  porch,  shading  her  brow  with  one  hand 
from  the  glittering  sunlight,  as  she  watched  them  descend- 
ing the  winding  path  to  the  shore,  accompanied  by  her 
father,  who  hospitably  insisted  on  seeing  them  into  their 
boat.  They  looked  back  once  or  twice,  always  to  see  the 
slender,  tall  white  figure  standing  there  like  an  angel  rest- 
ing in  a  bower  of  roses,  with  the  sunshine  flashing  on  a 
golden  crown  of  hair.  At  the  last  in  the  pathway  Philip 
raised  his  hat  and  waved  it,  but  whether  she  condescended 
to  wave  her  hand  in  answer  he  could  not  see. 

Left  alone,  she  sighed,  and  went  slowly  into  the  house  to 
resume  her  spinning.  Hearing  the  whirr  of  the  wheel,  the 
servant  Britta  entered. 

"  You  are  not  going  in  the  boat,  Froken  ?  "  she  asked  in 
a  tone  of  mingled  deference  and  affection. 

Thelma  looked  up,  smiled  faintly,  and  shook  her  head  in 
the  negative. 

"  It  is  late,  Britta,  and  I  am  tired." 

And  the  deep  blue  eyes  had  an  intense  dreamy  light 
within  them  as  they  wandered  from  the  wheel  to  the  wide- 
open  window,  and  rested  on  the  majestic  darkness  of  the 
overshadowing,  solemn  pines. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"In  mezzo  del  mio  core  c'  6  nna  spina ; 
Non  c'  6  barbier  che  la  possa  levare, — 
Solo  il  mio  amore  col  la  sua  manina  " 

Rime  Popolari. 

ERRINGTON  and  Lorimer  pulled  away  across  the  Fjord  in 
a  silence  that  lasted  for  many  minutes.  Old  Giildmar  stood 
on  the  edge  of  his  little  pier  to  watch  them  out  of  sight. 
So,  till  their  boat  turned  the  sharp  corner  of  the  protecting 
rock,  that  hid  the  landing-place  from  view,  they  saw  his 
picturesque  figure  and  gleaming  silvery  hair  outlined 
clearly  against  the  background  of  the  sky — a  sky  now 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  71 

tenderly  flushed  with  pink  like  the  inside  of  a  delicate  shell. 
When  they  could  no  longer  perceive  him  they  still  rowed  on 
speaking  no  word, — the  measured,  musical  plash  of  the  oars 
through  the  smooth,  dark  olive-green  water  alone  breaking 
the  stillness  around  them.  There  was  a  curious  sort  of 
hushed  breathlessness  in  the  air  ;  fantastic,  dream-like  lights 
and  shadows  played  on  the  little  wrinkling  waves ;  sudden 
flushes  of  crimson  came  and  went  in  the  western  horizon, 
and  over  the  high  summits  of  the  surrounding  mountains 
mysterious  shapes,  formed  of  purple  and  grey  mist,  rose  up 
and  crept  softly  downwards,  winding  in  and  out  deep 
valleys  and  dark  ravines,  like  wandering  spirits  sent  on 
some  secret  and  sorrowful  errand.  After  a  while  Erriugton 
said  almost  vexedly — 

"  Are  you  struck  dumb,  George  ?  Haven't  you  a  word 
to  say  to  a  fellow  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  was  about  to  ask  J/OM,"  replied  Lorimer 
carelessly  ;  "  and  I  was  also  going  to  remark  that  we 
hadn't  seen  your  mad  friend  up  at  the  Guldmar  residence." 

"  No.  Yet  I  can't  help  thinking  he  has  something  to  do 
with  them,  all  the  same,"  returned  Errington  meditatively. 
<:  I  tell  you,  he  swore  at  me  by  some  old  Norwegian  infernal 
place  cr  other.  I  dare  say  he's  an  Odin  worshipper,  too. 
But  never  mind  him.  What  do  you  think  of  her?  " 

Lorimer  turned  lazily  round  in  the  boat,  so  that  he  faced 
his  companion. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  if  you  ask  me  frankly,  I  think  she  is 
the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw,  or,  for  that  matter, 
ever  heard  of.  And  I  am  an  impartial  critic — perfectly  im- 
partial." 

And,  resting  on  his  oav,  he  dipped  the  blade  musingly  in 
and  out  of  the  water,  watching  the  bright  drops  fall  with 
an  oil-like  smoothness  as  they  trickled  from  the  polished 
wood  and  glittered  in  the  late  sunshine  like  vari-colored 
jewels.  Then  he  glanced  curiously  at  Philip,  who  sat 
silent,  but  whose  face  was  very  grave  and  earnest, — even 
noble,  with  that  shade  of  profound  thought  upon  it.  He 
looked  like  one  who  had  suddenly  accepted  a  high  trust,  in 
which  there  was  not  only  pride,  but  tenderness.  Lorimer 
shook  himself  together,  as  he  himself  would  have  expressed 
it,  and  touched  his  friend's  arm  half-playfully. 

"  You've  met  the  king's  daughter  of  Norroway  after  all, 
Phil ; "  and  his  light  accents  had  a  touch  of  sadness  in 
them ;  "  and  you'll  have  to  bring  her  home,  as  the  old  song 


72  THELMA. 

says.  I  believe  the  '  eligible '  is  caught  at  last.  The 
'  woman '  of  the  piece  has  turned  up,  and  your  chum  must 
play  second  fiddle — eh,  old  boy  ?  " 

Errington  flushed  hotly,  but  caught  Lorimer's  hand  and 
pressed  it  with  tremendous  fervor. 

"  By  Jove,  I'll  wring  it  off  your  wrist  if  you  talk  in 
that  fashion,  George !  "  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  You'll  al- 
ways be  the  same  to  me,  and  you  know  it.  I  tell  you," 
and  he  pulled  his  moustache  doubtfully,  "  I  don't  know 
quite  what's  the  matter  with  me.  That  girl  fascinates  me ! 
I  feel  a  fool  in  her  presence.  Is  that  a  sign  of  being  in 
love  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  returned  George  promptly  ;  "  for  7 
feel  a  fool  in  her  presence,  and  I'm  not  in  love." 

"  How  do  3*ou  know  that  ?  "  And  Errington  glanced  at 
him  keenly  and  inquiringly. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Come,  I  like  that !  Have  I  studied 
myself  all  these  years  for  nothing  ?  Look  here," — and  he 
carefully  drew  out  the  little  withering  bunch  of  daisies  he 
had  purloined — "  these  are  for  you.  I  knew  you  wanted 
them,  though  you  hadn't  the  impudence  to  pick  them  up, 
and  I  had.  I  thought  you  might  like  to  put  them  under 
your  pillow,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  because  if  one  is 
resolved  to  become  love-lunatic,  one  may  as  well  do  the 
thing  properly  out  and  out, — I  hate  all  half-measures. 
Now,  if  the  remotest  thrill  of  sentiment  were  in  me,  you 
can  understand,  I  hope,  that  wild  horses  would  not  have 
torn  this  adorable  posy  from  my  possession !  I  should 
have  kept  it,  and  you  would  never  have  known  of  it,"  and 
he  laughed  softly.  "  Take  it,  old  fellow !  You're  rich 
now,  with  the  rose  she  gave  you  besides.  What  is  all  your 
wealth  compared  with  the  sacred  preciousness  of  such 
blossoms !  There,  don't  look  so  awfully  estactic,  or  I  shall 
be  called  upon  to  ridicule  you  in  the  interests  of  common 
sense.  So  you're  in  love  with  the  girl  at  once,  and  have 
done  with  it.  Don't  beat  about  the  bush !  " 

"  I'm  not  sure  about  it,"  said  Philip,  taking  the  daisies 
gratefully,  however,  and  pressing  them  in  his  pocket-book. 
"  I  don't  believe  in  love  at  first  sight!  " 

"  I  do,"  returned  Lorimer  decidedly.  "  Love  is  elec- 
tricity. Two  telegrams  are  enough  to  settle  the  business, 
— one  from  the  eyes  of  the  man,  the  other  from  those  of 
the  woman.  You  and  Miss  Giildmar  must  have  exchanged 
a  dozen  such  messages  at  least." 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  73 

"  And  you  ?  "  inquired  Errington  persistently.  "  You 
had  the  same  chance  as  myself." 

George  shrugged  bis  shoulders.  "  My  dear  boy,  there 
are  no  wires  of  communication  between  the  Sun-angel  and 
myself;  nothing  but  a  blank,  innocent  landscape,  over 
which  perhaps  some  day,  the  mild  lustre  of  friendship  may 
beam.  The  girl  is  beautiful — extraordinarily  so ;  but  I'm 
not  a  '  man  o'  wax^'  as  Juliet's  gabbling  old  nurse  says — 
not  in  the  least  impressionable." 

And  forthwith  be  resumed  his  oar,  saj'ing  briskly  as  he 
did  so — 

'•  Phil,  do  you  know  those  other  fellows  must  be  swear- 
ing at  us  pretty  forcibly  for  leaving  them  so  long  with 
D3rceworthy.  We've  been  away  two  hours  I  " 

"  Not  possible!"  cried  Errington,  amazed,  and  wielding 
his  oar  vigorously.  "  They'll  think  me  horribly  rude.  By 
Jove,  they  must  be  bored  to  death !  " 

And,  stimulated  by  the  thought  of  the  penance  their 
friends  were  enduring,  they  sent  the  boat  spinning  swiftly 
through  the  water,  and  rowed  as  though  they  were  trying 
for  a  race,  when  they  were  suddenly  pulled  up  by  a  loud 
"Halloo!*'  and  the  sight  of  another  boat  coming  slowly 
out  from  Bosekop,  wherein  two  individuals  were  standing 
up,  gesticulating  violently. 

"  There  they  are  !  "  exclaimed  Lorimer.  "  I  say,  Phil, 
they've  hired  a  special  tub,  and  are  coming  out  to  us." 

So  it  proved.  Duprez  and  Macfarlane  had  grown  tired 
of  waiting  for  their  truant  companions,  and  had  taken  the 
first  clumsy  wherry  that  presented  itself,  rowed  by  an  even 
clumsier  Norwegian  boatman,  whom  they  had  been  com- 
pelled to  engage  also,  as  he  would  not  let  his  ugly  punt 
out  of  his  sight,  for  fear  some  harm  might  chance  to  befall 
it.  Thus  attended,  they  were  on  their  way  back  to  the 
yacht.  With  a  few  long,  elegant  strokes,  Errington  and 
Lornner  soon  brought  their  boat  alongside,  and  their 
friends  gladly  jumped  into  it,  delighted  to  be  free  of  the 
company  of  the  wooden-faced  mariner  they  had  so  reluc- 
tantly hired,  and  who  now,  on  receiving  his  fee,  paddled 
awkwardly  away  in  his  ill-constructed  craft.,  without  either 
a  word  of  thanks  or  salutation.  Errington  began  to  apol- 
ogize at  once  for  his  long  absence,  giving  as  a  reason  for  it, 
the  necessity  he  found  himself  under  of  making  a  call  on 
some  persons  of  importance  in  the  neighborhood,  whom  h« 
had,  till  now,  forgotten. 


74  THELMA. 

"  My  good  Phil-eep !  "  cried  Duprez,  in  his  cheery  sing- 
song accent,  "  why  apologize  ?  We  have  amused  ourselves  I 
Our  dear  Sandy  has  a  vein  of  humor  that  is  astonishing  I 
We  have  not  wasted  our  time.  No  1  We  have  made  Mr. 
Dyceworthy  our  slave ;  we  have  conquered  him ;  we  have 
abased  him  !  He  is  what  we  please, — he  is  for  all  gods  or 
for  no  god, — just  as  we  pull  the  string  !  In  plain  words, 
moh  cher,  that  amiable  religious  is  drunk  !  " 

"  Drunk  1 "  cried  Errington  and  Lorimer  together. 
"  Jove !  you  don't  mean  it  ?  " 

Macfarlane  looked  up  with  a  twinkle  of  satirical  humor 
in  his  deep-set  grey  eyes. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  said  seriously,  "  the  Lacrima,  or  Papist 
wine  as  he  calls  it,  was  strong — we  got  him  to  take  a  good 
dose  o't^a  vera  fair  dose  indeed.  Then,  doun  he  sat,  an' 
fell  to  convairsing  vera  pheelosophically  o'  mony  things, — 
it  wad  hae  done  ye  gude  to  hear  him, — he  was  fair  lost  in 
the  mazes  o'  his  metapheesics,  for  twa  flies  took  a  bit  saun- 
ter through  the  pleasant  dewy  lanes  o'  his  forehead,  an'  he 
never  raised  a  finger  to  send  them  awa'  aboot  their  beezi- 
ness.  Then  I  thoct  I  wad  try  him  wi'  the  whusky — I  had 
ma  pocket  flask  wi'  me — an'  0  mon  !  he  was  sairly  glad  and 
gratefu'  for  the  first  snack  o't !  He  said  it  was  deevilish 
fine  stuff,  an'  so  he  took  ane  drappikie,  an'  anither  drappikie, 
diid  yet  anither  drappikie," — Sandy's  accent  got  more  and 
more  pronounced  as  he  went  on — "  an'  after  a  bit,  his  heed 
dropt  doun,  an'  he  took  a  wee  snoozle  of  a  minute  or  twa, 
— then  he  woke  up  in  a'  his  strength  an' just  grappit  the 
flask  in  his  twa  hands  an'  took  the  hale  o't  off  at  a  grand, 
rousin'  gulp  !  Ma  certes !  after  it  ye  shuld  ha'  seen  him 
laughin'  like  a  feckless  fule,  an'  rubbin'  an'  rubbin'  his 
heed,  till  his  hair  was  like  the  straw  kicked  roondby  a  mad 
coo  1  " 

Lorimer  lay  back  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  and  laughed 
uproariously  at  this  extraordinary  picture,  as  did  the 
others. 

"  But  that  is  not  all,"  said  Duprez,  with  delighted  mis- 
chief sparkling  in  his  wicked  little  dark  eyes ;  "  the  dear 
religious  opened  his  heart  to  us.  He  spoke  thickly,  but  we 
could  understand  him.  He  was  very  impressive  !  He  is 
quite  of  my  opinion.  He  says  all  religion  is  nonsense,  fable, 
imposture, — Man  is  the  only  god,  Woman  his  creature  and 
subject.  Again, — man  and  woman  conjoined,  make  up  di- 
vinity, necessity,  law.  He  was  quite  clear  on  that  point. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  75 

Why  did  he  preach  what  he  did  not  believe,  we  asked  ?  He 
almost  wept !  He  replied  that  the  children  of  this  world 
liked  fairy-stories  and  he  was  paid  to  tell  them.  It  was  his 
bread  and  butter, — would  we  wish  him  to  have  no  bread 
and  butter  ?  We  assured  him  so  cruel  a  thought  had  no 
place  in  our  hearts  !  Then  he  is  amorous — yes  1  the  good 
fat  man  is  amorous !  He  would  have  become  a  priest,  but 
on  close  examination  of  the  confessionals  he  saw  there  was 
no  possibility  of  seeing,  much  less  kissing  a  lady  penitent 
through  the  grating.  So  he  gave  up  that  idea  !  In  his 
form  of  faith  he  can  kiss,  he  says, — he  does  kiss  !— always 
a  holy  kiss,  of  course  !  He  is  so  ingenuous, — so  delight- 
fully frank,  it  is  quite  charming !  " 

They  laughed  again.  Sir  Philip  looked  somewhat  dis* 
gusted. 

"  What  an  old  brute  he  must  be  !  "  he  said.  "  Somebody 
ought  to  kick  him — a  holy  kick,  of  course,  and  therefore 
more  intense  and  forcible  than  other  kicks." 

"  You  begin,  Phil,''  laughed  Lorimer,  "  and  we'll  all  follow- 
suit.  Hell  be  like  that  Indian  in  '  Vathek  '  who  rolled  him- 
self into  a  ball ;  no  one  could  resist  kicking  as  long  as  the 
ball  bounded  before  them, — we,  similarly,  shall  not  be  able 
to  resist,  if  Dyceworthy's  fat  person  is  once  left  at  our 
mercy." 

"  That  was  a  grand  bit  he  toid  us,  Errington,"  resumed 
Macfarlane.  "  Ye  should  ha'  heard  him  talk  aboot  his  love- 
affair  !  .  .  .  the  saft  jelly  of  a  man  that  he  is,  to  be 
making  up  to  ony  woman." 

At  that  moment  they  ran  alongside  of  the  Eulalie  and 
threw  up  their  oars. 

u  Stop  a  bit,"  said  Errington.  "  Tell  us  the  rest  on 
board." 

The  ladder  was  lowered ;  they  mounted  it,  and  their  boat 
was  hauled  up  to  its  place. 

"  Go  on !  "  said  Lorimer,  throwing  himself  lazily  into  a 
deck  arm-chair  and  lighting  a  cigar,  while  the  others  leaned 
against  the  yacht  rails  and  followed  his  example.  "  Go  on, 
Sandy — this  is  fun  !  Dyceworthy's  amours  must  be  amus- 
ing. I  suppose  he's  after  that  ugly  wooden  block  of  a 
woman  we  saw  at  his  house  who  is  so  zealous  for  the  '  true 
gospel '  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Sandy,  with  immense  gravity, 
"  The  auld  Silenus  has  better  taste.  He  says  there's  a 
young  lass  running  after  him,  fit  to  break  her  heart  aboot 


76  THELMA. 

him, — puir  thing,  she  must  have  vera  little  choice  o'  men  1 
He  hasna  quite  made  up  his  mind,  though  he  admeets  she's 
as  fine  a  lass  as  ony  man  need  require.  He's  sorely 
afraid  she  has  set  herself  to  catch  him,  as  he  says  she's  an 
eye  like  a  warlock  for  a  really  strong  good-looking  fellow 
like  himself,"  and  Macfarlane  chuckled  audibly.  "  Maybe 
he'll  take  pity  on  her,  maybe  he  wont ;  the  misguided 
lassie  will  be  sairly  teazed  by  him  from  a'  he  tauld  us  in  his 
cups.  He  gave  us  her  name, — the  oddest  in  a'  the  warld  for 
sure, — I  canna  just  remember  it." 

"  I  can,"  said  Duprez  glibly.  "  It  struck  me  as  quaint 
and  pretty — Thelma  Giildmar." 

Errington  started  so  violently,  and  flushed  so  deeply, 
that  Lorimer  was  afraid  of  some  rash  outbreak  of  wrath  on 
his  part.  But  he  restrained  himself  by  a  strong  effort.  He 
merely  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  puffed  a  light 
cloud  of  smoke  into  the  air  before  replying,  then  he  said 
coldly — 

"  I  should  say  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  besides  being  a  drunk- 
ard, is  a  most  consummate  liar.  It  so  happens  that  the 
Giildmars  are  the  very  people  I  have  just  visited, — highly 
superior  in  every  way  to  anybody  we  have  yet  met  in  Nor- 
way. In  fact,  Mr.  and  Miss  Giildmar  will  come  on  board 
to-morrow.  I  have  invited  them  to  dine  with  us ;  you  will 
then  be  able  to  judge  for  yourselves  whether  the  3roung  lady 
is  at  all  of  the  description  Mr.  Dyceworthy  gives  of  her." 

Duprez  and  Macfarlane  exchanged  astonished  looks. 

"  Are  ye  quite  sure,"  the  latter  ventured  to  remark  cau- 
tiously, "  that  ye're  prudent  in  what  ye  have  done  ?  Re- 
member ye  have  asked  no  pairson  at  a'  to  dine  with  ye  as 
yet, — it's  a  vera  sudden  an'  exceptional  freak  o'  hospitality." 

Errington  smoked  on  peacefully  and  made  no  answer. 
Duprez  hummed  a  verse  of  a  French  chansonnette  under  his 
breath  and  smiled.  Lorimer  glanced  at  him  with  a  lazy 
amusement. 

"  Unburden  yourself,  Pierre,  for  heaven's  sake  !  "  he  said. 
"  Your  mind  is  as  uncomfortable  as  a  loaded  camel.  Let  it 
lie  down,  while  you  take  off  its  packages,  one  by  one,  and 
reveal  their  contents.  In  short,  what's  up  ?  " 

Duprez  made  a  rapid,  expressive  gesture  w'th  his  hands. 

"  Mon  cher,  I  fear  to  displease  Phil-eep !  He  has  invited 
these  people  ;  they  are  coming, — bien  !  there  is  no  moi  e  to 
say." 

"  I  disagree  with  ye,"  interposed  Macfarlane.    "  I  think 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  77 

Errington  should  hear  what  ive  ha'  heard  ;  it's  fair  an'  just 
to  a  mon  that  he  should  understand  what  sort  o'  folk  are 
gaun  to  pairtake  wi'  him  at  his  table.  Ye  see,  Errington, 
ye  should  ha'  thought  a  wee,  before  inviting  pairsons  o'  un- 
settled an'  dootful  chairacter " 

"  Who  says  they  are  ?  "  demanded  Errington  half-angrily. 
"  The  drunken  Dyceworthy  ?  " 

u  He  was  no  sae  drunk  at  the  time  he  tauld  us,"  persisted 
Macfarlane  in  his  most  obstinate,  most  dictatorial  manner. 
"  Ye  see,  it's  just  this  way " 

"  Ah,  pardon!  ''  interrupted  Duprdz  briskly.  "Our  dear 
Sandy  is  an  excellent  talker,  but  he  is  a  little  slow.  Thus 
it  is,  mon  cher  Errington.  This  gentleman  named  Giild- 
mar  had  a  most  lovely  wife — a  mysterious  lady,  with  an 
evident  secret.  The  beautiful  one  was  never  seen  in  the 
church  or  in  any  town  or  village ;  she  was  met  sometimes 
on  hills,  by  rivers,  in  valleys,  carrying  her  child  in  her 
arms.  The  people  grew  afraid  of  her  ;  but,  now,  see  what 
happens !  Suddenly,  she  appears  no  more ;  some  one  ven- 
tures to  ask  this  Monsieur  Giildmar, '  What  has  become  of 
Madame  ?  '  His  answer  is  brief.  '  She  is  dead  1 '  Satis- 
factory so  far,  yet  not  quite ;  for,  Madame  being  dead,  then 
what  has  become  of  the  corpse  of  Madame  ?  It  was  never- 
seen, — no  coffin  was  ever  ordered, — and  apparently  it  was 
never  buried  !  Bien  !  What  follows  ?  The  good  people 
of  Bosekop  draw  the  only  conclusion  possible — Monsieur 
Guldraar,  who  is  said  to  have  a  terrific  temper,  killed 
Madame  and  made  away  with  her  body.  Voila  ! 

And  Duprez  waved  his  hand  with  an  air  of  entire  satis- 
faction. 

Errington's  brow  grew  sombre.  "  This  is  the  story,  is 
it  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  It  is  enough,  is  it  not? "  laughed  Duprez.  "  But,  after 
all,  what  matter  ?  It  will  be  novel  to  dine  with  a  mur " 

"  Stop !  "  said  Philip  fiercely,  with  so  much  authority 
that  the  sparkling  Pierre  was  startled.  ';  Call  no  man  by 
such  a  name  till  you  know  he  deserves  it.  If  Giildmar  was 
suspected,  as  you  say,  why  didn't  somebody  arrest  him  on 
the  charge  ?  " 

"  Because,  ye  see,"  replied  Macfarlane,  "  there  was  not 
sufficient  proof  to  warrant  such  a  proceeding.  Moreover, 
the  actual  meenister  of  the  parish  declared  it  was  a'  richt, 
an'  said  this  Giildmar  was  a  mon  o'  vera  queer  notions,  an' 


78  THELMA. 

maybe,  had  buried  his  wife  wi'  certain  ceremonies  peculiar 
to  himself What's  wrong  wi'  ye  now  ? " 

For  a  light  had  flashed  on  Errington's  mind,  and  with  the 
quick  comprehension  it  gave  him,  his  countenance  cleared. 
He  laughed. 

"  That's  very  likety,"  he  said  ;  "  Mr.  Giildmar  is  a  char- 
acter. He  follows  the  faith  of  Odin,  and  not  even  Dyce- 
worthy  can  convert  him  to  Christianity." 

Macfarlane  stared  with  a  sort  of  stupefied  solemnity. 

u  Mon  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  ye  never  mean  to  say  there's  an 
actual  puir  human  creature  that  in  this  blessed,  enlightened 
nineteenth  century  of  ours,  is  so  far  misguidit  as  to  worship 
the  fearfu'  gods  o'  the  Scandinavian  meethology  ?  " 

"  Ah  1 "  yawned  Lorimer,  "  you  may  wonder  away,  Sandy, 
but  it's  true  enough  !  Old  Giildmar  is  an  Odinite.  In  this 
blessed,  enlightened  nineteenth  century  of  ours,  when 
Christians  amuse  themselves  by  despising  and  condemning 
each  other,  and  thus  upsetting  all  the  precepts  of  the  Mas- 
ter they  profess  to  follow,  there  is  actually  a  man  who  sticks 
to  the  traditions  of  his  ancestors.  Odd,  isn't  it  ?  In  this 
delightful,  intellectual  age,  when  more  than  half  of  us  are 
discontented  with  life  and  yet  don't  want  to  die,  there  is  a 
fine  old  gentleman,  living  beyond  the  Arctic  circle,  who  is 
perfectly  satisfied  with  his  existence — -not  only  that,  he 
thinks  death  the  greatest  glory  that  can  befall  him.  Com- 
fortable state  of  things  altogether  1  I'm  half  inclined  to 
be  an  Odinite  too." 

Sandy  still  remained  lost  in  astonishment.  "  Then  ye 
don't  believe  that  he  made  awa'  wi'  his  wife  ?  "  he  inquired 
slowly. 

"  Not  in  the  least !  "  returned  Lorimer  decided!}7 ; 
"  neither  will  you,  to-morrow,  when  }-ou  see  him.  He's  a 
great  deal  better  up  in  literature  than  you  are,  my  boy,  I'd 
swear,  judging  from  the  books  he  has.  And  when  he  men- 
tioned his  wife,  as  he  did  once,  you  could  see  in  his  face  he 
had  never  done  her  any  harm.  Besides,  his  daughter — " 

"  Ah  !  but  I  forgot,"  interposed  Duprez  again.  "  The 
daughter,  Thelma,  was  the  child  the  m}rsteriously  vanished 
lady  carried  in  her  arms,  wandering  with  it  all  about  the 
woods  and  hills.  After  her  disappearance,  another  thing 
extraordinary  happens.  The  child  also  disappears,  and 
Monsieur  Giildmar  lives  alone,  avoided  carefully  by  every 
respectable  person.  Suddenly  the  child  returns,  grown  to 
be  nearly  a  woman — and  they  say,  lovely  to  an  almost  im- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SU#.  79 

possible  extreme.  She  lives  with  her  father.  She,  like  her 
strange  mother,  never  enters  a  church,  town,  or  village — 
nowhere,  in  fact,  where  persons  are  in  any  numbers.  Three 
years  ago,  it  appears,  she  vanished  again,  but  came  back  at 
the  end  of  ten  months,  lovelier  than  ever.  Since  then  she 
has  remained  quiet — composed — but  always  apart, — she 
may  disappear  at  any  moment.  Droll,  is  it  not,  Errington  ? 
and  the  reputation  she  has  is  natural !  " 

u  Pray  state  it,"  said  Philip,  with  freezing  coldness. 
"  The  reputation  of  a  woman  is  nothing  nowadays.  Fair 
game — go  on  !  " 

But  his  face  was  pale,  and  his  eyes  blazed  dangerously. 
Almost  unconsciously  his  hand  toyed  with  the  rose  Thelma 
had  given  him,  that  still  ornamented  his  button-hole. 

u  Mon  Dieu  !  "  cried  Duprez  in  amazement.  "  But  look 
not  at  me  like  that !  It  seems  to  displease  you,  to  put  you 
en  fureur,  what  I  say  1  It  is  not  my  story,— it  is  not  I, — 
I  know  not  Mademoiselle  Giildmar.  But  as  her  beauty  is 
considered  superhuman,  they  say  it  is  the  devil  who  is  her 
parfumeur,  her  coiffeur,  and  who  sees  after  her  complex, 
ion ;  in  brief,  she  is  thought  to  be  a  witch  in  full  practice, 
dangerous  to  life  and  limb." 

Errington  laughed  loudly,  he  was  so  much  relieved. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  he  said  with  light  contempt.  "  By  Jove ! 
what  a  pack  of  fools  there  must  be  about  here, — ugly  fools 
too,  if  they  think  beauty  is  a  sign  of  witchcraft.  I  wonder 
Dycewortby  isn't  scared  out  of  his  skin  if  he  positively 
thinks  the  so-called  witch  is  setting  her  cap  at  him." 

"  Ah,  but  he  means  to  convairt  her,"  said  Macfarlane  se- 
riously. "  To  draw  the  evil  oot  o'  her,  as  it  were.  He  said 
he  wad  do't  by  fair  means  or  foul." 

Something  in  these  latter  words  struck  Lorimer,  for,  rais- 
ing himself  in  his  seat,  he  asked,  "  Surely  Mr.  Dyceworthy, 
with  all  his  stupidity,  doesn't  carry  it  so  lar  as  to  believe  in 
witchcraft  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed  he  does,"  exclaimed  Duprez  ;  "  he  believes 
in  it  d  la  lettre  !  He  has  Bible  authority  for  his  belief.  He 
is  very  firm — firmest  when  drunk  !  "  And  he  laughed 
gaily. 

Errington  muttered  something  not  very  flattering  to  Mr. 
Dyceworthy's  intelligence,  which  escaped  the  hearing  ot 
his  friends  ;  then  he  said — 

"  Come  along,  all  of  you,  down  into  the  saloon.  We 
want  something  to  eat.  Let  the  Giildmars  alone  ;  I'm  not 


80  THELMA. 

a  bit  sorry  I've  asked  them  to  come  to-morrow.  I  believe 
you'll  all  like  them  immensely." 

They  all  descended  the  stair-way  leading  to  the  lower 
part  of  the  yacht,  and  Macfarlane  asked  as  he  followed  his 
host — 

"  Is  the  lass  vera  bonnie  did  ye  say  ?  " 

"  Bonnie's  not  the  word  for  it  this  time,"  said  Lorimer, 
coolly  answering  instead  of  Errington.  "  Miss  Giildmar  is 
a  magnificent  woman.  You  never  saw  such  a  one,  Sandy, 
my  boy  ;  she'll  make  you  sing  small  with  one  look  ;  she'll 
wither  you  up  into  a  kippered  herring  !  And  as  for  you, 
Duprez,"  and  he  regarded  the  little  Frenchman  critically, 
"  let  me  see, — you  may  possibly  reach  up  to  her  shoulder, 
— certainl}'  not  beyond  it." 

"Pas  possible ! "  cried  Duprez.  "  Mademoiselle  is  a 
giantess." 

"  She  needn't  be  a  giantess  to  overtop  you,  mon  ami" 
laughed  Lorimer  with  a  lazy  shrug.  "  By  Jove,  I  am 
sleepy,  Errington,  old  boy;  are  we  never  going  to  bed? 
It's  no  good  waiting  till  it's  dark  here,  you  know." 

"  Have  something  first,"  said  Sir  Philip,  seating  himself 
at  the  saloon  table,  where  his  steward  had  laid  out  a  tasty 
cold  collation.  "  We've  had  a  good  deal  of  climbing  about 
and  rowing  ;  it's  taken  it  out  of  us  a  little." 

Thus  hospitably  adjured,  they  took  their  places,  and 
managed  to  dispose  of  an  excellent  supper.  The  meal  con- 
cluded, Duprez  helped  himself  to  a  tiny  liqueur  glass  of 
Chartreuse,  as  a  wind-up  to  the  exertions  of  the  day,  a  mild 
luxury  in  which  the  others  joined  him,  with  the  exception 
of  Macfarlane,  who  was  wont  to  declare  that  a  "  mon  with- 
out his  whusky  was  nae  mon  at  a',"  and  who,  therefore, 
persisted  in  burning  up  his  interior  median  ism  with  alcohol 
in  spite  of  the  doctrines  of  hygiene,  and  was  now  absorbed 
in  the  work  of  mixing  his  lemon,  sugar,  hot  water,  and 
poison — his  usual  preparation  for  a  night's  rest. 

Lorimer,  usually  conversational,  watched  him  in  ab- 
stracted silence.  Rallied  on  this  morose  humor,  he  rose, 
shook  himself  like  a  retriever,  yawned,  and  sauntered  to 
the  piano  that  occupied  a  dim  corner  of  the  saloon,  and 
began  to  play  with  that  delicate,  subtle  touch,  which, 
though  it  does  not  always  mark  the  brilliant  pianist,  distin- 
guishes the  true  lover  of  music,  to  whose  ears  a  rough 
thump  on  the  instrument,  or  a  false  note  would  be  most  ex- 
quisite agony.  Lorimer  had  no  pretense  to  musical  talent; 


THE  LAND  Of  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  81 

when  asked,  he  confessed  he  could  "  strum  a  little,"  and  he 
hardly  seemed  to  see  the  evident  wonder  and  admiration  he 
awakened  in  the  minds  of  many  to  whom  such  u  strum- 
ming "  as  his  was  infinitely  more  delightful  than  more 
practiced,  finished  playing.  Just  now  he  seemed  undecided, 
— he  commenced  a  dainty  little  prelude  of  Chopin's,  then 
broke  suddenly  off,  and  wandered  into  another  strain,  wild, 
pleading,  pitiful,  and  passionate, — a  melody  so  weird  and 
dreamy  that  even  the  stolid  Macfarlane  paused  in  his  toddy- 
sipping,  and  Duprez  looked  round  in  some  wonderment. 

"  Comme  c'est  beau,  fa  !  "  he  murmured. 

Errington  said  nothing  ;  he  recognized  the  tune  as  that 
which  Thelma  had  sung  at  her  spinning-wheel,  and  his  bold 
bright  eyes  grew  pensive  and  soft,  as  the  picture  of  the  fair 
face  and  form  rose  up  again  before  his  mind.  Absorbed  in 
a  reverie,  he  almost  started  when  Lorimer  ceased  playing, 
and  said  lightly — 

"  By-bye,  boys  !  I'm  off  to  bed  !  Phil,  don't  wake  me  so 
abominably  early  as  you  did  this  morning.  If  you  do, 
friendship  can  hold  out  no  longer — we  must  part ! " 

"  All  right !  "  laughed  Errington  good-humoredly,  watch- 
ing his  friend  as  he  sauntered  out  of  the  saloon  ;  then  see- 
ing Duprez  and  Macfarlane  rise  from  the  table,  he  added 
courteously,  "  Don't  hurry  away  on  Lorimer's  account,  you 
two.  I'm  not  in  the  least  sleepy, — I'll  sit  up  with  you  to 
any  hour." 

"  It  is  droll  to  go  to  bed  in  broad  daylight,"  said  Duprez. 
"  But  it  must  be  done.  Cher  Philippe,  your  eyes  are 
heavy.  '  To  bed,  to  bed,'  as  the  excellent  Madame  Macbeth 
says.  Ah !  quelle  femme !  What  an  exciting  wife  she 
was  for  a  man  ?  Come,  let  us  follow  our  dear  Lorimer, — 
his  music  was  delicious.  Good  night  or  good  morning  ? 
...  I  know  not  which  it  is  in  this  strange  land  where 
the  sun  shines  always !  It  is  confusing  !  " 

They  shook  hands  and  separated.  Errington,  however, 
unable  to  compose  his  mind  to  rest,  went  into  his  cabin 
merely  to  come  out  of  it  again  and  betake  himself  to  the 
deck,  where  he  decided  to  walk  up  and  down  till  he  felt 
sleepy.  He  wished  to  be  alone  with  his  own  thoughts  for 
awhile — to  try  and  resolve  the  meaning  of  this  strange  new 
emotion  that  possessed  him, — a  feeling  that  was  half  pleas- 
ing, half  painful,  and  that  certainly  moved  him  to  a  sort  of 
shame.  A  man,  if  he  be  strong  and  healthy,  is  always  more 
or  less  ashamed  when  Love,  with  a  single  effort,  proves  him 


82  THELMA. 

to  be  weaker  than  a  blade  of  grass  swaying  in  the  wind. 
What !  all  his  dignity,  all  his  resoluteness,  all  his  authority 
swept  down  by  the  light  touch  of  a  mere  willow  wand  ?  for 
the  very  sake  of  his  own  manhood  and  self-respect,  he  can- 
not help  but  be  ashamed !  It  is  as  though  a  little  nude, 
laughing  child  mocked  at  a  lion's  strength,  and  made  him  a 
helpless  prisoner  with  a  fragile  daisy  chain.  So  the  god 
Eros  begins  his  battles,  which  end  in  perpetual  victory, — 
first  fear  and  shame, — then  desire  and  passion, — then  con- 
quest and  possession.  And  afterwards  ?  ah  !  .  .  .  after- 
wards the  pagan  deity  is  powerless, — a  higher  God,  a 
grander  force,  a  nobler  creed  must  carry  Love  to  its 
supreme  and  best  fulfillment. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Le  vent  qui  vient  a  travers  la  montagne 
M'a  rendu  fou !  " 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

IT  was  half  an  hour  past  midnight.  Sir  Philip  was  left 
in  absolute  solitude  to  enjoy  his  meditative  stroll  on  deck, 
for  the  full  radiance  of  light  that  streamed  over  the  sea  and 
land  was  too  clear  and  brilliant  to  necessitate  the  attend- 
ance of  any  of  the  sailors  for  the  purpose  of  guarding  the 
Eulalie.  She  was  safely  anchored  and  distinctly  visible  to 
all  boats  or  fishing  craft  crossing  the  Fjord,  so  that  unless 
a  sudden  gale  should  blow,  which  did  not  seem  probable  in 
the  present  state  of  the  weather,  there  was  nothing  for  the 
men  to  do  that  need  deprive  them  of  their  lawful  repose. 
Errington  paced  up  and  down  slowly,  his  yachting  shoes 
making  no  noise,  even  as  they  left  no  scratch  on  the  spot- 
less white  deck,  that  shone  in  the  night  sunshine  like  pol- 
ished silver.  The  Fjord  was  very  calm, — on  one  side  it 
gleamed  like  a  pool  of  golden  oil  in  which  the  outline  of 
the  Eulalie  was  precisely  traced,  her  delicate  masts  and 
spars  and  drooping  flag  being  drawn  in  black  lines  on  the 
yellow  water  as  though  with  a  finely  pointed  pencil.  There 
was  a  curious  light  in  the  western  sky  ;  a  thick  bank  of 
clouds,  dusky  brown  in  color,  were  swept  together  and 
piled  one  above  the  other  in  mountainous  ridges,  that  rose 
up  perpendicularly  from  the  very  edge  of  the  sea-line,  while 
over  their  dark  summits  a  glimpse  of  the  sun,  like  a  giant's 
eye,  looked  forth,  darting  dazzling  descending  rays  through 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  <*3 

the  sullen  smoke-like  masses,  tinging  them  with  metallic 
green  and  copper  hues  as  brilliant  and  shifting  as  the  bris- 
tling points  of  lifted  spears.  Away  to  the  south,  a  solitary 
wreath  of  purple  vapor  floated  slowly  as  though  lost  from 
some  great  mountain  height ;  and  through  its  faint,  half 
disguising  veil  the  pale  moon  peered  sorrowfully,  like  a 
dying  prisoner  lamenting  joy  long  past,  but  unforgotten. 

A  solemn  silence  reigned ;  and  Errington,  watching  sea 
and  sky,  grew  more  and  more  absorbed  and  serious.  The 
scornful  words  of  the  proud  old  Olaf  Guldmar  rankled  in 
his  mind  and  stung  him.  "  An  idle  trifler  with  time — an 
aimless  wanderer  !  "  Bitter,  but,  after  all,  true  I  He  looked 
back  on  his  life  with  a  feeling  kin  to  contempt.  What  had 
he  done  that  was  at  all  worth  doing  ?  He  had  seen  to  the 
proper  management  of  his  estates, — well !  any  one  with  a 
grain  of  self-respect  and  love  of  independence  would  do  the 
same.  He  had  travelled  and  amused  himself, — he  had 
studied  languages  and  literature, — he  had  made  many 
friends  ;  but  after  all  said  and  done,  the  bonders  cutting  ob- 
servations had  described  him  correctly  enough.  The  do- 
nothing,  care-nothing  tendency,  common  to  the  very  wealthy 
in  this  age,  had  crept  upon  him  unconsciously  ;  the  easy, 
cool,  indifferent  nonchalance  common  to  men  of  his  class 
and  breeding  was  habitual  with  him,  and  he  had  never 
thought  it  worth  while  to  exert  his  dormant  abilities.  Why 
then,  should  he  now  begin  to  think  it  was  time  to  reform 
all  this, — to  rouse  himself  to  an  effort, — to  gain  for  himself 
some  honor,  some  distinction,  some  renown  that  should 
mark  him  out  as  different  to  other  men?  why  was  he  sud- 
denly seized  with  an  insatiate  desire  to  be  something  more 
than  a  mere  "  mushroom  knight,  a  fungus  of  nobility  " — 
why  ?  if  not  to  make  himself  worthy  of — ah  1  There  he  had 
struck  a  suggestive  key-note  !  Worthy  of  what  ?  of  whom  ? 
There  was  no  one  in  all  the  world,  excepting  perhaps  Lori- 
mer,  who  cared  what  became  of  Sir  Philip  Errington,  Baro- 
net, in  the  future,  so  long  as  he  would,  for  the  present,  en- 
tertain and  feast  his  numerous  acquaintances  and  give  them 
all  the  advantages,  social  and  political,  his  wealth  could  so 
easily  obtain.  Then  why,  in  the  name  of  well-bred  indo- 
lence, should  he  muse  with  such  persistent  gloom,  on  his 
general  unworthiness  at  this  particular  moment  ?  Was  it 
because  this  Norwegian  maiden's  grand  blue  eyes  had  met 
his  with  such  beautiful  trust  and  candor  ? 

He  had  known  many  women,  queens  of  society,  titled 


84  THELMA. 

beauties,  brilliant  actresses,  sirens  of  the  world  with  all 
their  witcheries  in  full  play,  and  he  had  never  lost  his  self- 
possession  or  his  heart ;  with  the  loveliest  of  them  he  had 
always  felt  himself  master  of  the  situation,  knowing  that 
in  their  opinion  he  was  always  "  a  catch,"  "  an  ejigible," 
and,  therefore,  well  worth  winning.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
he  became  aware  of  his  utter  insignificance, — this  tall,  fair 
goddess  knew  none  of  the  social  slang — and  her  fair, 
pure  face,  the  mirror  of  a  fair,  pure  soul,  showed  that 
the  "  eligibility  "  of  a  man  from  a  pecuniar}'  point  of 
view  was  a  consideration  that  would  never  present  itself 
to  her  mind.  What  she  would  look  at  would  be  the 
man  himself, — not  his  pocket.  And,  studied  from  such 
an  exceptional  height, — a  height  seldom  climbed  by  modern 
marrying  women, — Philip  felt  himself  unworthy.  It  was 
a  good  sign  ;  there  are  great  hopes  of  any  man  who  is 
honestly  dissatisfied  writh  himself.  Folding  his  arms,  he 
leaned  idly  on  the  deck-rails,  and  looked  gravely  and  mus- 
ingly down  into  the  motionless  water  where  the  varied  hues 
of  the  sky  were  clearly  mirrored, — when  a  slight  creaking, 
cracking  sound  was  heard,  as  of  some  obstacle  grazing 
against  or  bumping  the  side  of  the  yacht.  He  looked,  and 
saw,  to  his  surprise,  a  small  rowing  boat  close  under  the 
gunwale,  so  close  indeed  that  the  slow  motion  of  the  tide 
heaved  it  every  now  and  then  into  a  jerky  collision  with 
the  lower  framework  of  the  Eulalie — a  circumstance  which 
explained  the  sound  which  had  attracted  his  attention.  The 
boat  was  not  unoccupied — there  was  some  one  in  it  lying 
straight  across  the  seats,  with  face  turned  upwards  to  the 
sky — and,  walking  noiselessly  to  a  better  post  of  observa- 
tion, Errington's  heart  beat  with  some  excitement  as  he 
recognized  the  long,  fair,  unkempt  locks,  and  eccentric  attire 
of  tlie  strange  personage  who  had  confronted  him  in  the 
cave — the  crazy  little  man  who  had  called  himself  "  Sigurd." 
There  he  was,  beyond  a  doubt,  lying  flat  on  his  back  with 
his  eyes  closed.  Asleep  or  dead  ?  He  might  have  been  the 
latter, — his  thin  face  was  so  pale  and  drawn, — his  lips  were 
so  set  and  colorless.  Errington,  astonished  to  see  him  there, 
called  softly — 

"  Sigurd  !  Sigurd  !  "  There  was  no  answer  ;  Sigurd's 
form  seemed  inanimate — his  eyes  remained  fast  shut. 

"  Is  he  in  a  trance  ?  "  thought  Sir  Philip  wonderingly ; 
"  or  has  he  fainted  from  some  physical  exhaustion  ?  " 

He  called  again,  but  again  received  no  reply.     He  now 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  85 

observed  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  a  large  bunch  of  pansies, 
dark  as  velvet,  and  evidently  freshly  gathered, — proving 
that  Sigurd  had  been  wandering  in  the  deep  valleys  and  on 
the  sloping  sides  of  the  hills,  where  these  flowers  ma}'  be 
frequently  found  in  Norway  during  the  summer. .  He  began 
to  feel  rather  uncomfortable,  as  he  watched  that  straight  stiff 
figure  in  the  boat,  and  was  just  about  to  swing  down  the 
companion-ladder  for  the  purpose  of  closer  inspection,  when 
a  glorious  burst  of  light  streamed  radiantly  over  the  Fjord, 
— the  sun  conquered  the  masses  of  dark  cloud  that  had 
striven  to  conceal  his  beauty,  and  now, — like  a  warrior 
clad  in  golden  armor,  surmounted  and  trod  down  his 
enemies,  shining  forth  in  all  his  splendor.  With  that  rush 
of  brilliant  effulgence,  the  apparently  lifeless  Sigurd  stirred, 
— he  opened  his  eyes,  and  as  they  were  turned  upwards,  he 
natural!}7,  from  his  close  vicinity  to  the  side  of  the  Eulatie, 
met  Errington's  gaze  fixed  inquiringly  and  somewhat  anx- 
iously upon  him.  He  sprang  up  with  such  sudden  and 
fierce  haste  that  his  frail  boat  rocked  dangerously  and 
Philip  involuntarily  cried  out — 

"  Take  care ! " 

Sigurd  stood  upright  in  his  swaying  skiff  and  laughed 
scornfully. 

"  Take  care !  "  he  echoed  derisively.  "  It  is  you  who 
should  take  care  I  You, — poor  miserable  moth  on  the  edge 
of  a  mad  storm  !  It  is  you  to  fear — not  I !  See  how  the 
light  rains  over  the  broad  sky.  All  for  me  !  Yes,  all  the 
light,  all  the  glory  for  me  ;  all  the  darkness,  all  the  shame 
for  you  ! " 

Errington  listened  to  these  ravings  with  an  air  of  patience 
and  pitying  gentleness,  then  he  said  with  perfect  coolness — 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Sigurd  I  You  are  always  right,  I 
am  sure.  Come  up  here  and  see  me ;  I  won't  hurt  you  I 
Come  along  I  " 

The  friendly  tone  and  gentle  manner  appeared  to  soothe 
the  unhappy  dwarf,  for  he  stared  doubtfully,  then  smiled, — 
and  finally,  as  though  acting  under  a  spell,  he  took  up  an 
oar  and  propelled  himself  skillfully  enough  to  the  gangway, 
where  Errington  let  down  the  ladder  and  with  his  own  hand 
assisted  his  visitor  to  mount,  not  forgetting  to  fasten  the  boat 
safely  to  the  steps  as  he  did  so.  Once  on  deck,  Sigurd 
gazed  about  him  perplexedly.  He  had  brought  his  bunch 
of  pansies  with  him,  and  he  fingered  their  soft  leaves 
thoughtfully.  Suddenly  his  eyes  flashed., 


86  THELMA. 

11  You  are  alone  here  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

Fearing  to  scare  his  strange  guest  by  the  mention  oi  iris 
companions,  Errington  answered  simply — 

"  Yes,  quite  alone  just  now,  Sigurd." 

Sigurd  took  a  step  closer  towards  him.  "  Are  you  not 
afraid  ?  "  he  said  in  an  awe-struck,  solemn  voice. 

Sir  Philip  smiled.  "  I  never  was  afraid  of  anything  in 
my  life  !  "  he  answered. 

The  dwarf  eyed  him  keenly.  "  You  are  not  afraid,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  I  shall  kill  you  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  least,"  returned  Errington  calmly.  "  You 
would  not  do  anything  so  foolish,  my  friend." 

Sigurd  laughed.  "  Ha  ha  !  You  call  me  '  friend.'  You 
think  that  word  a  safeguard  !  I  tell  you,  no!  There  are 
no  friends  now  ;  the  world  is  a  great  field  of  battle, — each 
man  fights  the  other.  There  is  no  peace, — none  anywhere  ! 
The  wind  fights  with  the  forests ;  you  can  hear  them  slash- 
ing and  slay  ing  all  night  long — when  it  is  night — the  long, 
long  night !  The  sun  fights  with  the  sky,  the  light  with 
the  dark,  and  life  with  death.  It  is  all  a  bitter  quarrel ; 
none  are  satisfied,  none  shall  know  friendship  any  more  ; 
it  is  too  late  1  We  cannot  be  friends  !  " 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  wa}r,"  said  Philip  good- 
naturedly,  wishing  that  Lorimer  were  awake  to  interview 
this  strange  specimen  of  human  wit  gone  astray  ;  "  we'll 
fight  if  you  like.  Anything  to  please  you  1  " 

"  We  are  fighting,"  said  Sigurd  with  intense  passion  in 
his  voice.  "  You  may  not  know  it ;  but  I  know  it !  I 
have  felt  the  thrust  of  your  sword ;  it  has  crossed  mine. 
Stay  !  "  and  his  eyes  grew  vague  and  dreamy.  "  Why  was 
I  sent  to  seek  you  out — let  me  think — let  me  think  I  " 

And  he  seated  himself  forlornly  on  one  of  the  deck 
chairs  and  seemed  painfully  endeavoring  to  put  his 
scattered  ideas  in  order.  Errington  studied  him  with  a 
gentle  forbearance ;  inwardly  he  was  very  curious  to  know 
whether  this  Sigurd  had  any  connection  with  the  Giild- 
mars,  but  he  refrained  from  asking  too  many  questions. 
He  simply  said  in  a  cheery  tone — 

"  Yes,  Sigurd, — why  did  you  come  to  see  me  ?  I'm  glad 
you  did  ;  it's  very  kind  of  you,  but  I  don't  think  you  even 
know  my  name." 

To  his  surprise,  Sigurd  looked  up  with  a  more  settled 
and  resolved  expression  of  face,  and  answered  almost  as 
connectedly  as  any  sane  man  could  have  done. 


TEE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  87 

"  I  know  your  name  very  well,"  he  said  in  a  low  com- 
posed manner.  "  You  are  Sir  Philip  Errington,  a  rich 
English  nobleman.  Fate  led  you  to  her  grave — a  grave 
that  no  strange  feet  have  ever  passed,  save  yours — and  so 
I  know  you  are  the  man  for  whom  her  spirit  has  waited, — 
she  has  brought  you  hither.  How  foolish  to  think  she 
sleeps  under  the  stone,  when  she  is  always  awake  and  busy, 
— always  at  work  opposing  me  I  Yes,  though  I  pray  her 
to  lie  still,  she  will  not !  " 

His  voice  grew  wild  again,  and  Philip  asked  quietly — 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Sigurd  ? " 

His  steady  tone  seemed  to  have  some  compelling  influ- 
ence on  the  confused  mind  of  the  half-witted  creature,  who 
answered  readily  and  at  once — 

"  Of  whom  should  I  speak"  but  Thelma  ?  Thelma,  the 
beautiful  rose  of  the  northern  forest — Thelma " 

He  broke  off  abruptly  with  a  long  shuddering  sigh,  and 
rocking  himself  drearily  to  and  fro,  gazed  wistfully  out  to 
the  sea.  Errington  hazarded  a  guess  as  to  the  purpose  of 
that  coffin  hidden  in  the  shell  cavern. 

''  Do  you  mean  Thelma  living  ?  ...  or  Thelma  dead  ?  " 

"  Both,"  answered  Sigurd  promptly.  "  They  are  one 
and  the  same, — you  cannot  part  them.  Mother  and  child, 
— rose  and  rosebud !  One  walks  the  earth  with  the  step 
of  a  queen,  the  other  floats  in  the  air  like  a  silvery  cloud; 
but  I  see  them  join  and  embrace  and  melt  into  each  other's 
arms  till  they  unite  in  one  form,  fairer  than  the  beauty  of 
angels  1  And  you — 3rou  know  this  as  well  as  I  do — you 
have  seen  Thelma,  you  have  kissed  the  cup  of  friendship 
with  her  ;  but  remember  ! — not  with  me — not  with  me  I  " 

He  started  from  his  seat,  and,  running  close  up  to  Er- 
rington, laid  one  meagre  hand  on  his  chest. 

"How  strong  you  are,  how -broad  and  brave,"  he  ex- 
claimed with  a  sort  of  childish  admiration.  "  And  can  you 
not  be  generous  too  ?  " 

Errington  looked  down  upon  him  compassionately.  He 
had  learned  enough  from  his  incoherent  talk  to  clear  up 
what  had  seemed  a  mystery.  The  scandalous  reports  con- 
cerning Olaf  Giildmar  were  incorrect, — he  had  evidently 
laid  the  remains  of  his  wife  in  the  shell-cavern,  for  some  rea- 
son connected  with  his  religious  belief,  and  Thelma's  visits 
to  the  sacred  spot  were  now  easy  of  comprehension.  No 
doubt  it  was  she  who  placed  fresh  flowers  there  every  da}^ 
and  kept  the  little  lamp  burning  before  the  crucifix  as  a 


88  THELMA. 

sign  of  the  faith  her  departed  mother  had  professed,  and 
which  she  herself  followed.  But  who  was  Sigurd,  and 
what  was  he  to  the  Giildmars  ?  Thinking  this,  he  replied 
to  the  dwarf's  question  by  a  counter-inquiry. 

"  How  shall  I  be  generous,  Sigurd  ?  Tell  me  !  What 
can  I  do  to  please  3rou  ?" 

Sigurd's  wild  blue  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure. 

"  Do  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  can  go  away,  swiftly,  swiftly 
over  the  seas,  and  the  Altenfjord  need  know  you  no  more  ! 
Spread  your  white  sails !  "  and  he  pointed  excitedly  up  to 
the  tall  tapering  masts  of  the  Eulalie.  "  You  are  king 
here.  Command  and  you  are  obeyed !  Go  from  us,  go ! 
What  is  there  here  to  delay  you  ?  Our  mountains  are  dark 
and  gloomy, — the  fields  are  wild  and  desolate, — there  are 
rocks,  glaciers  and  shrieking  torrents  that  hiss  like  serpents 
gliding  into  the  sea  1  Oh,  there  must  be  fairer  lands  than 
this  one, — lands  where  oceans  arid  sky  are  like  twin  jewels 
set  in  one  ring, — where  there  are  sweet  flowers  and  fruits 
and  bright  eyes  to  smile  on  you  all  day — yes !  for  you  are 
as  a  god  in  your  strength  and  beauty — no  woman  will  be 
cruel  to  you  !  Ah  !  say  you  will  go  away  ! ''  and  Sigurd's 
face  was  transfigured  into  a  sort  of  pained  beauty  as  he 
made  his  appeal.  "  That  is  what  I  came  to  seek  you  for, 
— to  ask  you  to  set  sail  quickly  and  go,  for  why  should 
you  wish  to  destroj7  me  ?  I  have  done  you  no  harm  as  yet. 
Go ! — and  Odin  himself  shall  follow  your  path  with  bless- 
ings 1 " 

He  paused,  almost  breathless  with  his  own  earnest  plead- 
ing. Errington  was  silent.  He  considered  the  request  a 
mere  proof  of  the  poor  creature's  disorder.  The  very  idea 
that  Sigurd  seemed  to  entertain  of  his  doing  him  any 
harm,  showed  a  reasonless  terror  and  foreboding  that  was 
simply  to  be  set  down  as  caused  by  his  unfortunate  mental 
condition.  To  such  an  appeal  there  could  be  no  satisfactory 
reply.  To  sail  away  from  the  Altenfjord  and  its  now  most 
fascinating  attractions,  because  a  madman  asked  him  to  do 
so,  was  a  proposion  impossible  of  acceptance,  so  Sir  Philip 
said  nothing.  Sigurd,  however,  watching  his  face  intently, 
saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  a  look  of  resolution  in  the  English- 
man's clear,  deep  grey  eyes, — and  with  the  startling  quick- 
ness common  to  many  whose  brains,  like  musical  instru- 
ments, are  jarred,  yet  not  quite  unstrung,  he  grasped  the 
meaning  of  that  expression  instantly. 

"  Ah !  cruel    and    traitorous !  "   he    exclaimed    fiercely. 


THE  LAND  OF  TSE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  89 

You  will  not  go  ;  you  are  resolved  to  tear  my  heart  out 
for  your  sport !  I  have  pleaded  with  you  as  one  pleads 
with  a  king  and  all  in  vain — all  in  vain  !  You  will  not  go  ? 
Listen,  see  what  you  will  do,"  and  he  held  up  the  bunch  of 
purple  pansies,  while  his  voice  sank  to  an  almost  feeble 
faintness.  "  Look  !  "  and  he  fingered  the  flowers,  "  look  ! 

.  .  .  they  are  dark  and  soft  as  a  purple  sky, — cool 
and  dewy  and  fresh  ; — they  are  the  thoughts  of  Thelma  ; 
such  thoughts !  So  wise  and  earnest,  so  pure  and  full  of 
tender  shadows  ! — no  hand  has  grasped  them  rudely,  no 
rough  touch  has  spoiled  their  smoothness  !  They  open  full- 
faced  to  the  sky,  they  never  droop  or  languish ;  they  have 
no  secrets,  save  the  marvel  of  their  beauty.  Now  you  have 
come,  you  will  have  no  pity, — one  by  one  you  will  gather  and 
play  with  her  thoughts  as  though  they  were  these  blossoms, 
— your  burning  hand  will  >nar  their  color, — they  will  wither 
and  furl  up  and  die,  all  of  them, — and  you, — what  will  you 
care  ?  Nothing  !  no  man  ever  cares  for  a  flower  that  is 
withered, — not  even  though  his  own  hand  slew  it." 

The  intense  melancholy  that  vibrated  through  Sigurd's 
voice  touched  his  listener  profoundly.  Dimly  he  guessed 
that  the  stricken  soul  before  him  had  formed  the  erroneous 
idea  that  he,  Errington,  had  come  to  do  some  great  wrong 
to  Thelma  or  her  belongings,  and  he  pitied  the  poor  Creat- 
ure for  his  foolish  self-torture. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Sigurd,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  impera- 
tiveness ;  "  I  cannot  promise  you  to  go  away,  but  I  can 
promise  that  I  will  do  no  harm  to  you  or  to — to — Thelma. 
Will  that  content  you  ?  " 

Sigurd  smiled  vacantly  and  shook  his  head.  He  looked 
at  the  pansies  wistfully  and  laid  them  down  very  gently  on 
one  of  the  deck  benches. 

u  I  must  go,"  he  said  in  a  faint  voice  : — "  She  is  calling 
me." 

"  Who  is  calling  you  ?  "  demanded  Errington  astonished. 

u  She  is,"  persisted  Sigurd,  walking  steadily  to  the  gang- 
way. "  I  can  hear  her !  There  are  the  roses  to  water,  and 
the  doves  to  feed,  and  many  other  things."  He  looked 
steadily  at  Sir  Philip,  who,  seeing  he  was  bent  on  depar- 
ture, assisted  him  to  descend  the  companion  ladder  into  his 
little  boat.  "  You  are  sure  }-ou  will  not  sail  away  ?  " 

Errington  balanced  himself  lightly  on  the  ladder  and 
smiled. 


90  THELMA. 

"  I  am  sure,  Sigurd !  I  have  no  wish  to  sail  away.  Are 
you  all  right  there  ?  " 

He  spoke  cheerily,  feeling  in  his  own  mind  that  it  was 
scarcely  safe  for  a  madman  to  be  quite  alone  in  a  cockle- 
shell of  a  boat  on  a  deep  Fjord,  the  shores  of  which  were 
indented  with  dangerous  rocks  as  sharp  as  the  bristling 
teeth  of  fabled  sea-monsters,  but  Sigurd  answered  him  al- 
most contemptuously. 

"  All  right !  "  he  echoed.  "  That  is  what  the  English  say 
always.  All  right !  As  if  it  were  ever  wrong  with  me,  and 
the  sea  !  We  know  each  other, — we  do  each  other  no  harm. 
You  may  die  on  the  sea,  but  1  shall  not !  No,  there  is 
another  way  to  Valhalla  1  " 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  there  are  no  end  of  ways,"  said  Erring- 
ton  good-tern peredly,  still  poising  himself  on  the  ladder, 
and  holding  on  to  the  side  of  his  yacht,  as  he  watched  his 
late  visitor  take  the  oars  and  move  off.  "  Good-bye,  Sigurd ! 
Take  care  of  yourself!  Hope  I  shall  see  you  again  soon." 

But  Sigurd  replied  not.  Bending  to  the  oars,  he  rowed 
swiftly  and  strongly,  and  Sir  Philip,  pulling  up  the  ladder 
and  closing  the  gangway,  saw  the  little  skiff'  flying  over  the 
water  like  a  bird  in  the  direction  of  the  Giildmar's  landing- 
place.  He  wondered  again  and  again  what  relationship,  if 
any,  this  half-crazed  being  bore  to  the  bonde  and  his 
daughter.  That  he  knew  all  about  them  was  pretty  evi- 
dent ;  but  how  ?  Catching  sight  of  the  pansies  left  on  the 
deck  bench,  Errington  took  them,  and,  descending  to  the 
saloon,  set  them  on  the  table  in  a  tumbler  of  water. 

"  Thelma's  thoughts,  the  poor  little  fellow  called  them,"  he 
mused,  with  a  smile.  "  A  pretty  fancy  of  his,  and  linked  with 
the  crazy  imaginings  of  Ophelia  too.  '  There's  pansies, 
that's  for  thoughts,'  she  said,  but  Sigurd's  idea  is  different ; 
he  believes  they  are  Thelma's  own  thoughts  in  flower.  'No 
rough  touch  has  spoiled  their  smoothness,'  he  declared ;  he's 
right  there,  I'm  sure.  And  shall  I  ruffle  the  sweet  leaves  ; 
shall  I  crush  the  tender  petals  ?  or  shall  I  simply  trans- 
form them,  from  pansies  into  roses, — from  the  dream  of 
love, — into  love  itself? " 

His  eyes  softened  as  he  glanced  at  the  drooping  rest,  he 
wore,  which  Thelma  herself  had  given  him,  and  as  he  went 
to  his  sleeping  cabin,  he  carefully  detached  it  from  his  but- 
ton-hole, and  taking  down  a  book, — one  which  he  greatly 
prized,  because  it  had  belonged  to  his  mother, — he  prepared 
to  press  the  flower  within  its  leaves.  It  was  the  "  Imita- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  91 

tion  of  Christ,"  bound  quaintly  and  fastened  with  silver 
clasps,  and  as  he  was  about  to  lay  his  fragrant  trophy  on 
the  first  page  that  opened  naturally  of  itself,  he  glanced  at 
the  words  that  there  presented  themselves  to  his  eyes. 

"  Nothing  is  sweeter  than  love,  nothing  stronger,  noth- 
ing higher,  nothing  wider,  nothing  more  pleasant,  nothing 
fuller  or  better  in  heaven  or  in  earth !  "  And  with  a  smile, 
and  a  warmer  flush  of  color  than  usual  on  his  handsome 
face,  he  touched  the  rose  lightly  yet  tenderly  with  his  lips 
and  shut  it  reverently  within  its  sacred  resting-place. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Our  manners  are  infinitely  corrupted,  and  wonderfully  incline  to 
the  worse;  of  our  customs  there  are  many  barbarous  and  monstrous." 

MONTAIGNE. 

THE  next  day  was  very  warm  and  bright,  and  that  pious 
Lutheran  divine,  the  Reverend  Charles  D3rceworthy,  was 
seriously  encumbered  by  his  own  surplus  flesh  material,  as 
he  wearily  rowed  himself  across  the  Fjord  towards  Olaf 
Giildmar's  private  pier.  As  the  perspiration  bedewed  his 
brow,  he  felt  that  Heaven  had  dealt  with  him  somewhat 
too  liberally  in  the  way  of  fat — he  was  provided  too  amply 
with  it  ever  to  excel  as  an  oarsman.  The  sun  was  burning 
hot,  the  water  was  smooth  as  oil,  and  very  weighty — it 
seemed  to  resist  every  stroke  of  his  clumsily  wielded  blades. 
Altogether  it  was  hard,  uncongenial  work, — and,  being 
rendered  somewhat  flabby  and  nerveless  by  his  previous 
evening's  carouse  with  Macfarlane's  whisky,  Mr.  Dycewor- 
thy  was  in  a  plaintive  and  injured  frame  of  mind.  He  was 
bound  on  a  mission — a  holy  and  edifying  errand,  which 
would  have  elevated  any  minister  of  his  particular  sect. 
He  had  found  a  crucifix  with  the  name  of  Thelma  engraved 
thereon, — he  was  BOW  about  to  return  it  to  the  evident 
rightful  owner,  and  in  returning  it,  he  purposed  denounc- 
ing it  as  an  emblem  of  the  "  Scarlet  Woman,  that  sitteth  on 
the  Seven  Hills,"  and  threatening  all  those  who  dared  to 
hold  it  sacred,  as  doomed  to  eternal  torture,  "  where  the 
worm  dieth  not."  He  had  thought  over  all  he  meant  to 
say  ;  he  had  planned  several  eloquent  and  rounded  sen- 
tences, some  of  which  he  murmured  placidly  to  himself  as 
he  propelled  his  slow  boat  along. 

"  Yea  1 "  he  observed  in  a  mild  eotto-voce — "  ye  shall  be 


dS  THELMA. 

cut  off  root  and  branch  I  Ye  shall  be  scorched  even  as 
stubble, — and  utterly  destroyed."  Here  he  paused  and 
mopped  his  streaming  forehead  with  his  clean  perfumed 
handkerchief.  "  Yea  !  "  he  resumed  peacefully,  "  the  wor- 
shippers of  idolatrous  images  are  accursed ;  they  shall 
have  ashes  for  food  and  gall  for  drink  !  Let  them  turn  and 
repent  themselves,  lest  the  wrath  of  God  consume  them  as 
straw  whirled  on  the  wind.  Repent  1  .  .  .  or  ye  shall 
be  cast  into  everlasting  fire.  Beauty  shall  avail  not,  learn- 
ing shall  avail  not,  meekness  shall  avail  not ;  for  the 

fire  of  hell  is  a  searching,  endless,  destroying " 

here  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  by  plunging  one  oar  with  too 
much  determination  into  the  watery  depths,  caught  a 
crab,  as  the  saying  is,  and  fell  violently  backward 
in  a  somewhat  undignified  posture.  Recovering  him- 
self slowly,  he  looked  about  him  in  a  bewildered  way, 
and  for  the  first  time  noticed  the  vacant,  solitary  appear- 
ance of  the  Fjord.  Some  object  was  missing  ;  he  realized 
what  it  was  immediately — the  English  3*acht  Eulalie  was 
gone  from  her  point  of  anchorage. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  half  aloud,  "  what  a 
very  sudden  departure  !  I  wonder,  now,  if  those  young 
men  have  gone  for  good,  or  whether  they  are  coming  back 
again  ?  Pleasant  fellows,  very  pleasant !  flippant,  perhaps, 
"but  pleasant." 

And  he  smiled  benevolently.  He  had  no  remembrance 
of  what  had  occurred,  after  he  had  emptied  young  Macfar- 
lane's  flask  of  Glenlivet ;  he  had  no  idea  that  he  had  been 
almost  carried  from  his  garden  into  his  parlor,  and  there 
flung  on  the  sofa  and  left  to  sleep  off  the  effects  of  his 
strong  tipple ;  least  of  all  did  he  dream  that  he  had  be- 
trayed any  of  his  intentions  towards  Thelma  Giildmar,  or 
given  his  religious  opinions  with  such  free  and  undisguised 
candor.  Blissfully  ignorant  on  these  points,  he  resumed 
his  refractory  oars,  and  after  nearly  an  hour  of  laborious  ef- 
fort, succeeded  at  last  in  reaching  his  destination.  Ar- 
rived at  the  little  pier,  he  fastened  up  his  boat,  and  with 
the  lofty  air  of  a  thoroughly  moral  man,  he  walked  deliber- 
ately up  to  the  door  of  the  bonders  house.  Contrary  to 
custom,  it  was  closed,  and  the  place  seemed  strangely  si- 
lent and  deserted.  The  afternoon  heat  was  so  great  that 
the  song-birds  were  hushed,  and  in  hiding  under  the  cool 
green  leaves, — the  clambering  roses  round  the  porch  hung 
down  their  bright  heads  for  sheer  faintness, — and  the  onlj 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  93 

sounds  to  be  heard  were  the  subdued  coo-cooing  of  the 
doves  on  the  roof,  and  the  soft  trickling  rush  of  a  little 
mountain  stream  that  flowed  through  the  grounds.  Some- 
what surprised,  though  not  abashed,  at  the  evident "  not-at- 
home  "  look  of  the  farm-house,  Mr.  Dyceworthy  rapped 
loudly  at  the  rough  oaken  door  with  his  knuckles,  there  be- 
ing no  such  modern  convenience  as  a  bell  or  a  knocker. 
He  waited  sometime  before  he  was  answered,  repeating  his 
summons  violently  at  frequent  intervals,  and  swearing  ir- 
religiously under  his  breath  as  he  did  so.  But  at  last  the 
door  was  flung  sharply  open,  and  the  tangle-haired,  rosy- 
cheeked  Britta  confronted  him  with  an  aspect  which  was 
b}r  no  means  encouraging  or  polite.  Her  round  blue  eyes 
sparkled  saucily,  and  she  placed  her  bare,  plump,  red  arms, 
wet  with  recent  soapsuds,  akimbo  on  her  sturdy  little  hips, 
with  an  air  that  was  decidedly  impertinent. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ? "  she  demanded  with  rude 
abruptness. 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  regarded  her  in  speechless  dignity. 
Vouchsafing  no  reply,  he  attempted  to  pass  her  and  enter 
the  house.  But  Britta  settled  her  arms  more  defiantly  than 
ever,  and  her  voice  had  a  sharper  ring  as  she  said — 

"  It's  no  use  your  coming  in  !  There's  no  one  here  but 
me.  The  master  has  gone  out  for  the  day." 

"  Young  woman,"  returned  Mr.  Dyceworth}*  with  polite 
severity,  "  I  regret  to  see  that  your  manners  stand  in  sore 
need  of  improvement.  Your  master's  absence  is  of  no  im- 
portance to  me.  It  is  with  the  Froken  Thelma  I  desire  to 
speak." 

Britta  laughed  and  tossed  her  rough  brown  curls  back 
from  her  forehead.  Mischievous  dimples  came  and  went  at 
the  corners  of  her  mouth — indications  of  suppressed  fun. 

"  The  Froken  is  out  too,"  she  said  demurely.  "  It's  time 
she  had  a  little  amusement ;  and  the  gentlemen  treat  her  as 
if  she  were  a  queen  !  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  started,  and  his  red  visage  became  a 
trifle  paler. 

"  Gentlemen  ?  What  gentlemen  ?  "  he  demanded  with 
some  impatience. 

Britta's  inward  delight  evidently  increased. 

'•  The  gentlemen  from  the  yacht,  of  course,"  she  said. 
"  What  other  gentlemen  are  there?"  This  with  a  contempt- 
ous  up-and-down  sort  of  look  at  the  Lutheran  minister's 
portly  form.  "  Sir  Philip  Errington  was  here  with  his 


94  THELMA. 

friend  yesterday  evening  and  stayed  a  long  time, — and  to- 
day a  fine  boat  with  four  oars  came  to  fetch  the  master  and 
Froken  Thelma,  and  they  are  all  gone  for  a  sail  to  the  Kaa 
Fjord  or  some  other  place  near  here — I  cannot  remember 
the  name.  And  I  am  .so  glad  !  "  went  on  Britta,  clasping 
her  plump  hands  in  ecstasy.  ''  They  are  the  grandest, 
handsomest  Her r en  I  hav  ever  s-en, — and  one  can  tell 
they  think  wonders  of  the  Froken — nothing  is  too  good  for 
her  ! " 

Mr.  D3rceworthv's  face  was  the  picture  of  dismay.  This 
was  a  new  turn  to  the  course  of  events,  and  one,  more- 
over, that  he  had  never  once  contemplated.  Britta  watched 
him  amusedly. 

"  Will  you  leave  any  message  for  them  when  they  re- 
turn ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  the  minister  dubiously.  "  Yet,  stay  ;  yes  I  I 
•will !  Tell  the  Froken  that  I  have  found  something  which 
belongs  to  her,  and  that  when  she  wishes  to  have  it,  I  will 
myself  bring  it." 

Britta  looked  cross.  "  If  it  is  hers  you  have  no  business 
to  keep  it,"  she  said  brusquely.  "  Why  not  leave  it, — what- 
ever it  is, — with  me?  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  regarded  her  with  a  bland  and  lofty 
air. 

"  I  trust  no  concerns  of  mine  or  hers  to  the  keeping  of  a 
paid  domestic,"  he  said.  "  A  domestic,  moreover,  who  de- 
serts the  ways  of  her  own  people, — who  hath  dealings  with 
the  dwellers  in  darkness, — who  even  bringeth  herself  to  for- 
get much  of  her  own  native  tongue,  and  who  devoteth  her- 
self to " 

What  he  would  have  said  was  uncertain,  as  at  that  mo- 
ment he  was  nearly  thrown  down  by  a  something  that 
slipped  agilely  between  his  legs,  pinching  each  fat  calf  as  it 
passed — a  something  that  looked  like  a  ball,  but  proved  to 
be  a  human  creature — no  other  than  the  crazy  Sigurd,  who, 
after  accomplishing  his  uncouth  gambol  successfully,  stood 
up,  shaking  back  his  streaming  fair  locks  and  laughing 
wildly. 

"  Ha,  ha  1  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  was  good  ;  that  was 
clever !  If  I  had  upset  you  now,  you  would  have  said 
3rour  prayers  backward !  What  are  you  here  for?  This  is 
no  place  for  you!  They  are  all  gone  out  of  it.  She  has 
gone — all  the  world  is  empty !  There  is  nothing  any- 
where but  air,  air,  air  !— no  birds,  no  flowerSj  no  trees}  nx> 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  95 

sunshine  !  All  gone  with  her  on  the  sparkling,  singing 
water ! "  and  he  swung  his  arms  round  violently,  and 
snapped  his  fingers  in  the  minister's  face.  "  What  an  ugly 
man  your  are  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  refreshing  candor.  "  I 
think  you  are  uglier  than  I  am  !  You  are  straight, — but 
you  are  like  a  load  of  peat — heavy  and  barren  and  fit  to 
burn.  Now,  I — I  am  the  crooked  bough  of  a  tree,  but  I 
have  bright  leaves  where  a  bird  hides  and  sings  all  day  1 
You — you  have  no  song,  no  foliage ;  only  ugty  and  barren 
and  fit  to  burn  !  "  He  laughed  heartily,  and,  catching  sight 
of  Britta,  where  she  stood  in  the  doorway  entirely  uncon- 
cerned at  his  eccentric  behavior,  he  went  up  to  her  and 
took  hold  of  the  coi'ner  of  her  apron.  "  Take  me  in,  Britta 
dear — pretty  Britta !  "  he  said  coaxingly.  "  Sigurd  is  hun- 
gry !  Britta,  sweet  little  Britta, — come  and  talk  to  me  and 
sing !  Good-bye,  fat  man  I  "  he  added  suddenly,  turning 
round  once  more  on  Dyceworthy.  "  You  will  never  overtake 
the  big  ship  that  has  gone  away  with  Thelma  over  the  water. 
Thelma  will  come  back, — yes  1  ....  but  one  day  she  will 
go  never  to  come  back."  He  dropped  his  voice  to  a  mys- 
terious whisper.  "  Last  night  I  saw  a  little  spirit  come 
out  of  a  rose, — he  carried  a  tiny  golden  hammer  and  nail, 
and  a  ball  of  cord  like  a  rolled-up  sunbeam.  He  flew 
away  so  quickly  I  could  not  follow  him ;  but  I  know  where 
he  went  1  He  fastened  the  nail  in  the  heart  of  Thelma, 
deeply,  so  that  the  little  drops  of  blood  flowed, — but  she  felt 
no  pain  ;  and  then  he  tied  the  golden  cord  to  the  nail  and 
left  her,  carrying  the  other  end  of  the  string  with  him — to 
whom  ?  Some  other  heart  must  be  pierced  I  Whose 
heart?  "  Sigurd  looked  infinitely  cunning  as  well  as  mel- 
ancholy, and  sighed  deeply. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Dyceworthy  was  impatient  and  dis- 
gusted. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  solemn  patience ; 
"  that  this  hapless  creature,  accursed  of  God  and  man,  is 
not  placed  in  some  proper  abode  suitable  to  the  treatment 
of  his  affliction.  You,  Britta,  as  the  favored  servant  of  a 
— a — well,  let  us  say,  of  a  peculiar  mistress,  should  per- 
suade her  to  send  this — this — person  away,  lest  his  vagar- 
ies become  harmful." 

Britta  glanced  very  kindly  at  Sigurd,  who  still  held  her 
apron  with  the  air  of  a  trustful  child. 

"  He's  no  more  harmful  than  you  are,"  she  said  promptly, 
in  answer  to  the  minister's  remark.  "  He's  a  good  fellow 


96 


THELMA. 


and  if  he  talks  strangely  he  can  make  himself  useful,— 
which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  certain  people.  He  can 
saw  and  chop  the  wood,  make  hay,  feed  the  cattle,  pull  a 
strong  oar,  and  sweep  and  keep  the  garden, — can't  you, 
Sigurd  ?  "  She  laid  her  hand  on  Sigurd's  shoulder,  and  he 
nodded  his  head  emphatically,  as  she  enumerated  his  differ- 
ent talents.  "  And  as  for  climbing, — he  can  guide  you 
anywhere  over  the  hills,  or  up  the  streams  to  the  big  water- 
falls— no  one  better.  And  if  you  mean  ~by  peculiar, — that 
m}'  mistress  is  different  ._to_  other  people,  why,  I  know  she 
is,  and  am  glad  of  it, — at  any  rate,  she's  a  great  deal  too 
kind-hearted  to  shut  this  poor  boy  up  in  a  house  for  mad- 
men !  He'd  die  if  he  couldn't  have  the  fresh  air."  She 
paused,  out  of  breath  with  her  rapid  utterance,  and  Mr. 
Dyceworthy  held  up  his  hands  in  dignified  astonishment. 

"  You  talk  too  glibly,  young  woman,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
necessary  that  I  should  instruct  you  without  loss  of  time,  as 
to  how  you  should  be  sparing  of  }*our  words  in  the  pres- 
ence of  your  superiors  and  betters — 

Bang  !  The  door  was  closed  with  a  decision  that  sent  a 
sharp  echo  through  the  silent,  heated  air,  and  Mr.  D3"ce- 
worthy  was  left  to  contemplate  it  at  his  leisure.  Full  of 
wrath,  he  was  about  to  knock  peremptorily  and  insist  that 
it  should  be  re-opened ;  but  on  second  thoughts  he  decided 
that  it  was  beneath  his  dignity  to  argue  with  a  servant, 
much  less  with  a  declared  lunatic  like  Sigurd, — so  he  made 
the  best  of  his  way  back  to  his  boat,  thinkling  gloomil}'  of 
the  hard  labor  awaiting  him  in  the  long  pull  back  to 
Bosekop. 

Other  thoughts,  too,  tortured  and  harrassed  his  brain, 
and  as  he  again  took  the  oars  and  plied  them  wearily 
through  the  water,  he  was  in  an  exceedingly  unchristian 
humor.  Though  a  specious  l^-pocrite,  he  was  no  fool.  He 
knew  the  ways  of  men  and  women,  and  he  thoroughly  rea- 
lized the  present  position  of  affairs.  He  was  quite  aware 
of  Thelma  Giildmar's  exceptional  beauty, — and  he  felt 
pretty  certain  that  no  man  could  look  upon  her  without 
admiration.  But  up  to  this  time,  she  had  been,  as  it  were, 
secluded  from  all  eyes, — a  few  haymakers  and  fishermen 
were  the  only  persons  of  the  male  sex  who  had  ever  been 
within  the  precincts  of  Olaf  Giildmar's  dwelling,  with  the 
exception  of  himself,  Dyceworthy, — who,  being  armed  with 
a  lettei  of  introduction  from  the  actual  minister  of  Bose- 
kop, whose  place,  he,  for  the  present,  filled,  had  intruded  his 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  97 

company  frequently  and  persistently  on  the  bonde  and  his 
daughter,  though  he  knew  himself  to  be  entirely  unwel- 
come. He  had  gathered  together  as  much  as  he  could,  all 
the  scraps  of  information  concerning  them ;  how  Olaf 
Giildmar  was  credited  with  having  made  away  with  his  wife 
by  foul  means  ;  how  nobody  even  knew  where  his  wife  had 
come  from  ;  how  Thelma  had  been  mysteriously  educated, 
and  had  learned  strange  things  concerning  foreign  lands, 
which  no  one  else  in  the  place  understood  anything  about ; 
how  she  was  reputed  to  be  a  witch,  and  was  believed  to 
have  cast  her  spells  on  the  unhappy  Sigurd,  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  his  reason, — and  how  nobody  could  tell  where 
Sigurd  himself  had  come  from. 

All  this  Mr.  Dyceworthy  had  heard  with  much  interest, 
and  as  the  sensual  part  of  his  nature  was  always  more  or 
less  predominant,  he  had  resolved  in  his  own  mind  that  here 
was  a  field  of  action  suitable  to  his  abilities.  To  tame  and 
break  the  evil  spirit  in  the  reputed  witch ;  to  convert  her 
to  the  hoi}'  and  edifying  Lutheran  faith  ;  to  save  her  soul 
for  the  Lord,  and  take  her  beautiful  body  for  himself;  these 
were  Mr.  Pyceworthy's  laudable  ambitions.  There  was  no 
rival  to  oppose  him,  and  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  mature 
his  plans.  So  he  had  thought.  He  had  not  bargained  for 
the  appearance  of  Sir  Philip  Bruce-Erringtonon  the  scene, 
— a  man,  }roung,  handsome,  and  well-bred,  with  vast  wealth 
to  back  up  his  pretensions,  should  he  make  any. 

"  How  did  he  find  her  out  ? "  thought  the  Reverend 
Charles,  as  he  dolefully  pulled  his  craft  along.  "  And  that 
brutal  pagan  Giildmar,  too,  who  pretends  he  cannot  endure 
strangers ! " 

And  as  he  meditated,  a  flush  of  righteous  indignation 
crimsoned  his  flabby  features. 

"  Let  her  take  care,"  he  half  muttered,  with  a  smile  that 
was  not  pleasant ;  "  let  her  take  care !  There  are  more 
ways  than  one  to  bring  down  her  pride !  Sir  Philip  Er- 
rington  must  be  too  rich  and  popular  in  his  own  country  to 
think  of  wishing  to  marry  a  girl  who  is  only  a  farmer's 
daughter  after  all.  He  may  trifle  with  her  ;  yes !  .  .  . 
and  he  will  help  me  by  so  doing.  The  more  mud  on  her 
name,  the  better  for  me  ;  the  more  disgrace,  the  more  need 
of  rescue,  and  the  more  grateful  she  will  have  to  be.  Just 
a  word  to  Ulrika, — and  the  scandal  will  spread.  Patience, 
patience !  " 

And  somewhat  cheered  by  his  own  reflections,  tliougfe 


98  THELMA. 

still  wearing  an  air  of  offended  dignity,  he  rowed  on,  glancing 
up  every  now  and  then  to  see  if  the  Eulalie  had  returned, 
but  her  place  was  still  empty. 

Meanwhile,  as  he  thought  and  planned,  other  thoughts 
and  plans  were  being  discussed  at  a  meeting  which  was 
held  in  a  little  ruined  stone  hut,  situated  behind  some  trees 
on  a  dreary  hill  just  outside  Bosekop.  It  was  a  miserable 
place,  barren  of  foliage, — the  ground  was  dry  and  yellow, 
and  the  hut  itself  looked  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by  light- 
ning. The  friends,  whose  taste  had  led  them  to  select  this 
dilapidated  dwelling  as  a  place  of  conference,  were  two  in 
number,  both  women, — one  of  them  no  other  than  the  min- 
ister's servant,  the  drear-faced  Ulrika.  She  was  crouched 
on  the  earth-floor  in  an  attitude  of  utter  abasement,  at  the 
feet  of  her  companion, — an  aged  dame  of  tall  and  imposing 
appearance,  who,  standing  erect,  looked  down  upon  her 
with  an  air  of  mingled  contempt  and  malevolence.  The  hut 
was  rather  dark,  for  the  roof  was  not  sufficiently  destroyed 
to  have  the  advantage  of  being  open  to  the  sky.  The  sun- 
light fell  through  holes  of  different  shapes  and  sizes, — one 
specially  bright  patch  of  radiance  illumining  the  stately 
form,  and  strongly  marked,  though  withered  features  of 
the  elder  woman,  whose  eyes,  deeply  sunken  in  her  head, 
glittered  with  a  hawk-like  and  evil  lustre,  as  they  rested  on 
the  prostrate  figure  before  her.  When  she  spoke,  her  ac- 
cents were  harsh  and  commanding. 

"  How  long  ?  "  she  said,  "  how  long  must  I  wait  ?  How 
long  must  I  watch  the  work  of  Satan  in  the  land  ?  The 
fields  are  barren  and  will  not  bring  forth ;  the  curse  of 
bitter  poverty  is  upon  us  all :  and  only  he,  the  pagan 
Giildmar,  prospers  and  gathers  in  harvest,  while  all  around 
him  starve !  Do  I  not  know  the  devil's  work  when  I  see 
it, — I,  the  chosen  servant  of  the  Lord  ?  "  And  she  struck  a 
tall  staff  she  held  violently  into  the  ground  to  emphasize  her 
words.  "  Am  I  not  left  deserted  in  my  age  ?  The  child 
Britta, — sole  daughter  of  my  sole  daughter, — is  she  not  stolen, 
and  kept  from  me?  Has  not  her  heart  been  utterly  turned 
away  from  mine  ?  All  through  that  vile  witch, — accursed 
of  God  and  man !  She  it  is  who  casts  the  blight  on  our 
land ;  she  it  is  who  makes  the  hands  and  hearts  of  our  men 
heavy  and  careless,  so  that  even  luck  has  left  the  fishing ; 
and  yet  you  hesitate, — ;,\,u  delay,  3-011  will  not  fulfill 
your  promise  !  I  tell  you,  there  are  those  in  Bosekop 
who,  at  my  bidding,  would  cast  her  naked  into  the  Fjord, 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  99 

and  leave  her  there,  to  sink  or  swim  according  to  her 
nature  !  " 

"  I  know,"  murmured  Ulrika  humbly,  raising  herself 
slightly  from  her  kneeling  posture  ;  "  I  know  it  well  1  .  . 

.  .  but,  good  Lovisa,  be  patient !  I  work  for  the  best ! 
Mr.  Dyceworth  will  do  more  for  us  than  we  can  do  for' our- 
selves ;  he  is  wise  and  cautious " 

Lovisa  interrupted  her  with  a  fierce  gesture.  "Fool'" 
she  cried.  "  What  need  of  caution  ?  A  witch  is  a  witch, 
burn  her,  drown  her  !  There  is  no  other  remedy  !  But 
two  days  since,  the  child  of  my  neighbor  Engla  passed  her 
on  the  Fjord  ;  and  now  the  boy  has  sickened  of  some 
strange  disease,  and  'tis  said  he  will  die.  Again,  the  drove 
of  cattle  owned  by  Hildmar  Bjorn  were  herded  home  when 
she  passed  by.  Now  they  are  seized  by  the  murrain 
plague !  Tell  your  good  saint  Pyceworthy  these  things  ; 
if  he  can  find  no  cure,  I  can, — and  will !  " 

Ulrika  shuddered  slightly  as  she  rose  from  the  ground 
and  stood  erect,  drawing  her  shawl  closely  about  her. 

"  You  hate  her  so  much,  Lovisa  ?  "  she  asked,  almost 
timidly. 

Lovisa's  face  darkened,  and  her  yellow,  claw-like  hand 
closed  round  her  strong  staff  in  a  cruel  and  threatening 
manner. 

"  Hate  her  I  "  she  muttered,  '  I  have  hated  her  ever  since 
she  was  born !  I  hated  her  mother  before  her  1  A  nest  of 
devils,  every  one  of  them ;  and  the  curse  will  always  be 
upon  us  while  they  dwell  here." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  Ulrika  steadily. 

"  Remember  I  "  she  said,  with  an  evil  leer  on  her  lips,  "  I 
hold  a  secret  of  yours  that  is  worth  the  keeping  !  I  give 
you  two  weeks  more  ;  within  that  time  you  must  act !  De- 
stroy the  witch, — bring  back  to  me  my  grandchild  Britta, 
or  else — it  will  be  my  turn !  " 

And  she  laughed  silently.  Ulrika's  face  grew  paler,  and 
the  hand  that  grasped  the  folds  of  her  shawl  trembled  vio- 
lently. She  made  an  effort,  however,  to  appear  composed, 
as  she  answered — 

"  I  have  sworn  to  obey  you,  Lovisa, — and  I  will.  But 
tell  me  one  thing — how  do  you  know  that  Thelma  Giildmar 
is  indeed  a  witch  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  almost  yelled  Lovisa.  "  Have  I 
lived  all  these  years  for  nothing  ?  Look  at  her  !  Am  1 
like  her  ?  Axe  you  like  her  ?  Are  any  of  the  honest 


100  THELMA. 

women  of  the  neighborhood  like  her?  Meet  her  on  the 
hills  with  knives  and  pins, — prick  her,  and  see  if  the  blood 
will  flow  !  I  swear  it  will  not — not  one  drop  !  Her  skin  is 
too  white;  there  is  no  blood  in  those  veins — only  fire! 
Look  at  the  pink  in  her  cheeks, — the  transparency  of  her 
flesh, — the  glittering  light  in  her  eyes,  the  gold  of  her  hair, 
it  is  all  devil's  work,  it  is  not  human,  it  is  not  natural !  I 
have  watched  her, — I  used  to  watch  her  mother,  and  curse 
her  every  time  I  saw  her — ay  !  curse  her  till  I  was  breath- 
less with  cursing " 

She  stopped  abruptly.  Ulrika  gazed  at  her  with  as  much 
wonder  as  her  plain,  heavy  face  was  capable  of  expressing. 
Lovisa  saw  the  look  and  smiled  darkly. 

"  One  would  think  you  had  never  known  what  love  is !  " 
she  said,  with  a  sort  of  grim  satire  in  her  tone.  "  Yet  even 
your  dull  soul  was  on  fire  once !  But  I — when  I  was  young, 
I  had  beauty  such  as  you  never  had,  and  I  loved — Olaf 
Guldmar." 

Ulrika  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment.  "  You  ! 
and  yet  you  hate  him  now  ?  " 

Lovisa  raised  her  hand  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

"  I  have  grown  hate  like  a  flower  in  my  breast,"  she  said, 
with  a  sort  of  stern  impressiveness.  "  I  have  fostered  it 
37ear  after  year,  and  now, — it  has  grown  too  strong  for  me ! 
When  Olaf  Guldmar  was  young  he  told  me  I  was  fair ; 
once  he  kissed  my  cheek  at  parting  !  For  those  words, — 
for  that  kiss, — I  loved  him  then — for  the  same  things  I  hate 
him  now  !  When  I  knew  he  had  married,  I  cursed  him ; 
on  the  day  of  my  own  marriage  with  a  man  I  despised,  I 
cursed  him  !  I  have  followed  him  and  all  his  surroundings 
with  more  curses  than  there  are  hours  in  the  day  1  I  have 
had  some  little  revenge — yes  !  " — and  she  laughed  grimly 
— '•  but  1  want  more  1  For  Britta  has  been  caught  by  his 
daughter's  evil  spell.  Britta  is  mine,  and  I  must  have  her 
back.  Understand  me  well  1 — do  what  you  have  to  do  with- 
out delay  !  Surely  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  ruin  a  woman !  " 

Ulrika  stood  as  though  absorbed  in  meditation,  and  said 
nothing  for  some  moments.  At  last  she  murmured  as 
though  to  herself — 

"  Mr.  Byceworthy  could  do  much — if " 

"  Ask  him,  then,"  said  Lovisa  imperatively.  "  Tell  him 
the  village  is  in  fear  of  her.  Tell  him  that  if  he  will  do 
nothing  we  will.  And  if  all  fails,  come  to  me  again  ;  and 
remember  1  ...  I  shall  not  only  act, — I  shall  speak  I  " 


THE  LA  A7)  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  101 

And  emphasizing  the  last  word  as  a  sort  of  threat,  she 
turned  and  strode  out  of  the  hut. 

Ulrika  followed  more  slowly,  taking  a  different  direction 
to  that  in  which  her  late  companion  was  seen  rapidly  disap- 
pearing. On  returning  to  the  minister's  dwelling,  she  found 
that  Mr.  Dyceworthy  had  not  yet  come  back  from  his  boating 
excursion.  She  gave  no  explanation  of  her  absence  to  her 
two  fellow-servants,  but  went  straight  up  to  her  own  room 
— a  bare  attic  in  the  roof — where  she  deliberately  took  oli 
her  dress  and  bared  her  shoulders  and  breast.  Then  she 
knelt  down  on  the  rough  boards,  and  clasping  her  hands, 
began  to  writhe  and  wrestle  as  though  she  were  seized  with 
a  sudden  convulsion.  She  groaned  and  tortured  the  tears 
from  her  eyes ;  she  pinched  her  own  flesh  till  it  was  black 
and  blue,  and  scratched  it  with  her  nails  till  it  bled, — and 
she  prayed  inaudibly,  but  with  evident  desperation.  Some- 
times her  gestures  were  frantic,  sometimes  appealing  ;  but 
she  made  no  noise  that  was  loud  enough  to  attract  atten- 
tion from  any  of  the  dwellers  in  the  house.  Her  stolid 
features  were  contorted  with  anguish, — and  had  she  been 
an  erring  nun  of  the  creed  she  held  in  such  bitter  abhor- 
rence, who,  for  some  untold  crime,  endured  a  self-imposed 
penance,  she  could  not  have  punished  her  own  flesh  much 
more  severely. 

She  remained  some  quarter  of  an  hour  or  twenty  min- 
utes thus ;  then  rising  from  her  knees,  she  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  e3'es  and  re-clothed  herself, — and  with  her 
usual  calm,  immovable  aspect — though  smarting  from  the 
injuries  she  had  inflicted  on  herself — she  descended  to  the 
kitchen,  there  to  prepare  Mr.  Dyceworthy 's  tea  with  all 
the  punctilious  care  and  nicety  befitting  the  meal  of  so 
good  a  man  and  so  perfect  a  saint. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"She  believed  that  by  dealing  nobly  with  all,  all  would  show 
themselves  noble;  so  that  whatsoever  she  did  became  her." 

HAPIZ. 

As  the  afternoon  lengthened,  and  the  sun  lowered  his 
glittering  shield  towards  that  part  of  the  horizon  where  he 
rested  a  brief  while  without  setting,  the  Eulalie, — her 
white  sails  spread  to  the  cool,  refreshing  breeze, — swept 
gracefully  and  swiftly  back  to  her  old  place  on  the  Fjord, 


102  THELMA. 

and  her  anchor  dropped  with  musical  clank  and  splash,  just 
as  Mr.  Dyceworthy  entered  his  house,  fatigued,  perspiring, 
and  ill-tempered  at  the  non-success  of  his  dajr.  All  on 
board  the  yacht  were  at  dinner — a  dinner  of  the  most  taste- 
ful and  elegant  description,  such  as  Sir  Philip  Errington 
well  knew  how  to  order  and  superintend,  and  Thelma,  lean- 
ing against  the  violet  velvet  cushions  that  were  piled 
behind  her  for  her  greater  ease,  looked, — as  she  indeed 
was, — the  veritable  queen  of  the  feast.  Macfarlane  and 
Duprez  had  been  rendered  astonished  and  bashful  by  her 
excessive  beauty.  From  the  moment  she  came  on  board 
with  her  father,  clad  in  her  simple  white  gown,  with  a  deep 
crimson  hood  drawn  over  her  fair  hair,  and  tied  under  her 
rounded  chin,  she  had  taken  them  all  captive — they  were 
her  abject  slaves  in  heart,  though  they  put  on  very  credit- 
able airs  of  manly  independence  and  nonchalance.  Each 
man  in  his  different  way  strove  to  amuse  or  interest  her, 
except,  strange  to  say,  Errington  himself,  who,  though 
deeply  courteous  to  her,  kept  somewhat  in  the  background 
and  appeared  more  anxious  to  render  himself  agreeable  to 
old  Olaf  Griildmar,  than  to  win  the  good  graces  of  his 
lovely  daughter.  The  girl  was  delighted  with  everything 
on  board  the  yacht, — she  admired  its  elegance  and  luxury 
with  child-like  enthusiasm ;  she  gloried  in  the  speed  with 
which  its  glittering  prow  cleaved  the  waters  ;  she  clapped 
her  hands  at  the  hiss  of  the  white  foam  as  it  split  into  a 
creaming  pathway  for  the  rushing  vessel ;  and  she  was  so 
unaffected  and  graceful  in  all  her  actions  and  attitudes, 
that  the  slow  blood  of  the  cautious  Macfarlane  began  to 
warm  up  by  degrees  to  a  most  unwonted  heat  of  admira- 
tion. When  she  had  first  arrived,  Errington,  in  receiving 
her,  had  seriously  apologized  for  not  having  some  lady  to 
meet  her,  but  she  seemed  not  to  understand  his  meaning. 
Her  naive  smile  and  frankly  uplifted  eyes  put  all  his  sud- 
denly conceived  notions  of  social  stiffness  to  flight. 

u  Why  should  a  lady  come  ?  "  she  asked  sweetly.  "  It  is 
not  necessary  ?...." 

"Of  course  it  isn't!"  said  Lorimer  promptly  and  de- 
lightedly. "  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  able  to  amuse  VQH,  Miss 
Giildmar." 

"  Oh,— for  that  1 "  she  replied,  with  a  little  shrug  that 
had  something  French  about  it,  "  I  amuse  myself  always ! 
I  am  amused  now, — you  must  not  trouble  yourselves !  " 

As  she  was  introduced  to  Duprez  and  Macfarlane,  she 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNlGST  SUN.  103 

gave  them  each  a  quaint,  sweeping  curtsy,  which  had  the 
effect  of  making  them  feel  the  most  ungainly  Itimbersome 
fellows  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Macfarlane  grew  secretly 
enraged  at  the  length  of  his  legs, — while  Pierre  Duprez, 
though  his  bow  was  entirely  Parisian,  decided  in  his  own 
mind  that  it  was  jerky,  and  not  good  style.  She  was  per- 
fectly unembarrassed  with  all  the  young  men  ;  she  laughed 
at  their  jokes,  and  turned  her  glorious  e}res  full  on  them 
with  the  unabashed  sweetness  of  innocence ;  she  listened 
to  the  accounts  they  gave  her  of  their  fishing  and  climbing 
excursions  with  the  most  eager  interest, — and  in  her  turn, 
she  told  them  of  fresh  nooks  and  streams  and  waterfalls, 
of  which  they  had  never  even  heard  the  names.  Not  only 
were  they  enchanted  with  her,  but  they  were  thoroughly 
delighted  with  her  father,  Olaf  Giildmar.  The  sturdy  old 
pagan  was  in  the  best  of  humors, — and  seemed  determined 
to  be  pleased  with  everything, — he  told  good  stories, — and 
laughed  that  rollicking,  jovial  laugh  of  his  with  such  un- 
forced heartiness  that  it  was  impossible  to  be  dull  in  his 
company, — and  not  one  of  Errington's  companions  gave  a 
thought  to  the  reports  concerning  him  and  his  daughter, 
which  had  been  so  gratuitously  related  by  Mr.  Dyceworthy. 

They  had  had  a  glorious  day's  sail,  piloted  by  Yaldemar 
Svensen,  whose  astonishment  at  seeing  the  Giildmars  on 
board  the  Eulalie  was  depicted  in  his  face,  but  who  pru- 
dently forebore  from  making  an}'  remarks  thereon.  The 
bonde  hailed  him  good-humoredly  as  an  old  acquaintance, 
— much  in  the  tone  of  a  master  addressing  a  servant, — and 
Thelma  smiled  kindly  at  him, — but  the  boundary  line  be- 
tween superior  and  inferior  was  in  this  case  very  strongly 
marked,  and  neither  side  showed  any  intention  of  over- 
stepping it.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  Duprez  had  acci- 
dentally lapsed  into  French,  whereupon  to  his  suprise 
Thelma  had  answered  him  in  the  same  tongue, — though 
with  a  different  and  much  softer  pronunciation.  Her  "  bien 
zoH!"  had  the  mellifluous  sweetness  of  the  Proven9al 
dialect,  and  on  his  eagerly  questioning  her,  he  learned  that 
she  had  received  her  education  in  a  large  convent  at  Aries, 
where  she  had  learned  French  from  the  nuns.  Her  father 
overheard  her  talking  of  her  school-days,  and  he  added — 

"  Yes,  I  sent  my  girl  away  for  her  education,  though  I 
know  the  teaching  is  good  in  Christiania.  Yet  it  did  not 
seem  good  enough  for  her.  Besides,  your  modern  '  higher 
education  '  is  not  the  thing  for  a  woman, — it  is  too  heavy 


104  THELMA. 

and  commonplace.  Thelma  knows  nothing  about  matbe 
matics  or  algebra.  She  can  sing  and  read  and  write, — and, 
what  is  more,  she  can  spin  and  sew  ;  but  even  these  things 
were  not  the  first  consideration  with  me.  I  wanted  her 
disposition  trained,  and  her  bodily  health  attended  to.  I 
said  to  those  good  women  at  Aries — '  Look  here, — here's  a 
child  for  you !  I  don't  care  how  much  or  how  little  she 
knows  about  accomplishments.  I  want  her  to  be  sound 
and  sweet  from  head  to  heel — a  clean  mind  in  a  wholesome 
body.  Teach  her  self-respect,  and  make  her  prefer  death  to 
a  lie.  Show  her  the  curse  of  a  shrewish  temper,  and  the 
blessing  of  cheerfulness.  That  will  satisfy  me ! '  I  dare 
say,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  those  nuns  thought  me  an 
odd  customer ;  but,  at  any  rate,  they  seemed  to  understand 
me.  Thelma  was  very  happy  with  them,  and  considering 
all  things  " — the  old  man's  eyes  twinkled  fondly — "  she 
hasn't  turned  out  so  badly  !  " 

They  laughed, — and  Thelma  blushed  as  Errington's 
dreain}^  eyes  rested  on  her  with  a  look,  which,  though  he 
was  unconscious  of  it,  spoke  passionate  admiration.  The 
day  passed  too  quickly  with  them  all, — and  now,  as  they 
sat  at  dinner  in  the  richly  ornamented  saloon,  there  was  not 
one  among  them  who  could  contemplate  without  reluctance 
the  approaching  break-up  of  so  pleasant  a  party.  Dessert 
was  served,  and  as  Thelma  toyed  with  the  fruit  on  her  plate 
and  sipped  her  glass  of  champagne,  her  face  grew  serious 
and  absorbed, — even  sad, — and  she  scarcely  seemed  to  hear 
the  merry  chatter  of  tongues  around  her,  till  Errington's 
voice  asking  a  question  of  her  father  roused  her  into  swift 
attention. 

"  Do  you  know  any  one  of  the  name  of  Sigurd  ?  "  he  was 
saying,  "  a  poor  fellow  whose  wits  are  in  heaven  let  ue 
hope,— for  they  certainly  are  not  on  earth." 

Olaf  Giildmar's  fine  face  softened  with  pity,  and  he  re- 
plied— 

"  Sigurd?  Have  you  met  him  then?  Ah,  poor  boy,  his 
is  a  sad  fate!  He  has  wit  enough,  but  it  works  wrongly  ; 
the  brain  is  there,  but  'tis  twisted.  Yes,  we  know  Sigurd 
well  enough — his  home  is  with  us  in  default  of  a  better. 
Ay,  ay  I  we  snatched  him  from  death — perhaps  unwisely,— 
yet  he  has  a  good  heart,  and  finds  pleasure  in  his  life." 

"  He  is  a  kind  of  poet  in  his  own  way,"  went  on  Erring- 
ton,  watching  Thelma  as  she  listened  intently  to  their  con- 
versation. "  Do  you  know  he  actually  visited  me  on  board 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  105 

here  last  night  and  begged  ine  to  go  away  from  the  Alten- 
fjord  altogether  ?  He  seemed  afraid  of  me,  as  if  he  thought 
I  meant  to  do  him  some  harm." 

"  How  strange  !  "  murmured  Thelma.  "  Sigurd  never 
speaks  to  visitors, — he  is  too  shy.  I  cannot  understand  his 
motive ! " 

"  Ah,  my  dear !  "  sighed  her  father.  "  Has  he  any  mo- 
tive at  all?  .  .  .  and  does  he  ever  understand  himself  ? 
His  fancies  change  with  every  shifting  breeze !  I  will  tell 
you,"  he  continued,  addressing  himself  to  Errington,  "  how 
he  came  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  bit  of  our  home.  Just  before 
Thelma  was  born,  I  was  walking  with  my  wife  one  day  on 
the  shore,  when  we  both  caught  sight  of  something  bump- 
ing against  our  little  pier,  like  a  large  box  or  basket.  I 
managed  to  get  hold  of  it  with  a  boat-hook  and  drag  it  in ; 
it  was  a  sort  of  creel  such  as  is  used  to  pack  fish  in,  and  in 
it  was  the  naked  body  of  a  half-drowned  child.  It  was  an 
ugly  little  creature — a  newly  born  infant  deformity — and 
on  its  chest  there  was  a  horrible  scar  in  the  shape  of  across, 
as  though  it  had  been  gashed  deeply  with  a  pen-knife.  I 
thought  it  was  dead,  and  was  for  throwing  it  back  into  the 
Fjord,  but  my  wife, — a  tender-hearted  angel — took  the  poor 
wretched  little  wet  body  in  her  arms,  and  found  that  it 
breathed.  She  warmed  it,  dried  it,  and  wrapped  it  in  her 
shawl, — and  after  awhile  the  tiny  monster  opened  its  eyes 
and  stared  at  her.  Well !  s  .  .  somehow,  neither  of  us 
could  forget  the  look  it  gave  us, — such  a  solemn,  warning, 
pitiful,  appealing  sort  of  expression  !  There  was  no  resist- 
ing it, — so  we  took  the  foundling  and  did  the  best  we  could 
for  him.  We  gave  him  the  name  of  Sigurd, — and  when 
Thelma  was  born,  the  two  babies  used  to  play  together  all 
day,  and  we  never  noticed  anj^thing  wrong  with  the  boy, 
except  his  natural  deformit3r,  till  he  was  about  ten  or  twelve 
years  old.  Then  we  saw  to  our  sorrow  that  the  gods  had 
chosen  to  play  havoc  with  his  wits.  However,  we  humored 
him  tenderl}',  and  he  was  always  manageable.  Poor 
Sigurd !  He  adored  my  wife  ;  I  have  known  him  listen  for 
hours  to  catch  the  sound  of  her  footstep ;  he  would  actually 
deck  the  threshold  with  flowers  in  the  morning  that  she 
might  tread  on  them  as  she  passed  by."  The  old  bonde 
sighed  and  rubbed  his  hand  across  his  eyes  with  a  gesture 
half  of  pain,  half  of  impatience — "  And  now  he  is  Thelma'a 
regular  servant  to  her.  She  can  manage  him  best 


106  THELMA. 

of  us  all, — he  is  as  docile  as  a  lamb,  and  will  do  anything 
she  tells  him." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  that,"  said  the  gallant  Duprez  ; 
"  there  is  reason  in  such  obedience !  " 

Thelma  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  ignoring  the  implied 
compliment. 

"You  think  so?  "she  said  simply  "  I  am  glad!  I  al- 
ways hope  that  he  will  one  day  be  well  in  mind, — and  every 
little  sign  of  reason  in  him  is  pleasant  to  me." 

Duprez  was  silent.  It  was  evidently  no  use  making  even 
an  attempt  at  flattering  this  strange  girl ;  surely  she  must 
be  dense  not  to  understand  compliments  that  most  other 
women  compel  from  the  lips  of  men  as  their  right  ?  He 
was  confused — his  Paris  breeding  was  no  use  to  him — in 
fact  he  had  been  at  a  loss  all  day,  and  his  conversation  had, 
even  to  himself,  seemed  particularly  shallow  and  frothy. 
This  Mademoiselle  Giildmar,  as  he  called  her,  was  by  no 
means  stupid — she  was  not  a  mere  moving  statue  of  lovely 
flesh  and  perfect  color  whose  outward  beauty  was  her  only 
recommendation, — she  was,  on  the  contrary,  of  a  most  su- 
perior intelligence, — she  had  read  much  and  thought  more, 
— and  the  dignified  elegance  of  her  manner,  and  bearing 
would  have  done  honor  to  a  queen.  After  all,  thought  Du- 
prez musingly,  the  social  creeds  of  Paris  might  be  wrong — 
it  was  just  possible!  There  might  be  women  who  were 
womanly, — there  might  be  beautiful  girls  who  were  neither 
vain  nor  frivolous, — there  might  even  be  creatures  of  the 
feminine  sex,  besides  whom  a  trained  Parisian  coquette 
would  seem  nothing  more  than  a  painted  fiend  of  the  neuter 
gender.  These  were  new  and  startling  considerations  to  the 
feather-light  mind  of  the  Frenchman, — and  unconsciously 
his  fancy  began  to  busy  itself  with  the  old  romantic  histor- 
ies of  the  ancient  French  chivalry,  when  faith,  and  love,  and 
loyalty,  kept  white  the  lilies  of  France,  and  the  stately  cour- 
tesy and  unflinching  pride  of  the  ancien  regime  made  its 
name  honored  throughout  the  world.  An  odd  direction  in- 
deed for  Pierre  Duprez's  reflection  to  wander  in — he,  who 
never  reflected  on  either  past  or  future,  but  was  content  to 
fritter  away  the  present  as  pleasantly  as  might  be — and  the 
only  reason  to  which  his  unusually  serious  reverie  could  be 
attributed  was  the  presence  of  Thelma.  She  certainly  had 
a  strange  influence  on  them  all,  though  she  herself  was  not 
aware  of  it, — and  not  only  Errington,  but  each  one  of  his 
companions  had  been  deeply  considering  during  the  day, 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  107 

that  notwithstanding  the  unheroic  tendency  of  modern  liv- 
ing, life  itself  might  be  turned  to  good  and  even  noble  ac- 
count, if  only  an  effort  were  made  in  the  right  direction. 

Such  was  the  compelling  effect  of  Thelma's  stainless  mind 
reflected  in  her  pure  face,  on  the  different  dispositions  of  all 
the  young  men  ;  and  she,  perfectly  unconscious  of  it,  smiled 
at  them,  and  conversed  gaily, — little  knowing  as  she  talked, 
in  her  own  sweet  and  unaffected  way,  that  the  most  pro- 
found resolutions  were  being  formed,  and  the  most  noble 
and  unselfish  deeds,  were  being  planned  in  the  souls  of  her 
listeners, — all  forsooth  !  because  one  fair,  innocent  woman 
had,  in  the  clear,  grave  glances  of  her  wondrous  sea-blue 
eyes,  suddenly  made  them  aware  of  their  own  utter  un- 
worthiness.  Macfarlane,  meditatively  watching  the  girl 
from  under  his  pale  eyelashes,  thought  of  Mr.  Dyceworthy's 
matrimonial  pretensions,  with  a  humorous  smile  hovering  on 
his  thin  lips. 

"  Ma  certes !  the  fellow  has  an  unco'  gude  opeenion  o' 
himsel',"  he  mused.  .  "  He  might  as  well  offer  his  hand  in 
marriage  to  the  Queen  while  he's  aboot  it, — he  wad  hae  just 
as  muckle  chance  o'  acceptance." 

Meanwhile,  Errington,  having  learned  all  he  wished  to 
know  concerning  Sigurd,  was  skillfulh'  drawing  out  old 
Olaf  Giildmar,  and  getting  him  to  give  his  ideas  on  things 
in  general,  a  task  in  which  Lorimer  joined. 

"  So  you  don't  think  we're  making  any  progress  nowa- 
days ?  "  inquired  the  latter  with  an  appearance  of  interest, 
and  a  lazy  amusement  in  his  blue  eyes  as  he  put  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  Progress  !  "  exclaimed  Giildmar.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it !  It 
is  all  a  going  backward  ;  it  may  not  seem  apparent,  but  it 
is  so.  England,  for  instance,  is  losing  the  great  place  she 
once  held  in  the  world's  history, — and  these  things  always 
happen  to  all  nations  when  money  becomes  more  precious 
to  the  souls  of  the  people  than  honesty  and  honor.  I  take 
the  universal  wide-spread  greed  of  gain  to  be  one  of  the 
worst  signs  of  the  times, — the  forewarning  of  some  great 
upheaval  and  disaster,  the  effects  of  which  no  human  mind 
can  calculate.  I  am  told  that  America  is  destined  to  be  the 
dominating  power  of  the  future, — but  I  doubt  it !  Its  poli- 
tics are  too  corrupt, — its  people  live  too  fast,  and  burn  their 
candle  at  both  ends,  which  is  unnatural  and  most  unwhole- 
some ;  moreover,  it  is  almost  destitute  of  Art  in  its  highest 
l$)rnis, — and  is  not  its  confessed  watchward  '  the  almighty 


108  THELMA. 

Dollar  ? '  And  such  a  country  as  that  expects  to  arrogate 
to  itself  the  absolute  sway  of  the  world?  I  tell  you,  no — 
ten  thousand  times  no!  It  is  destitute  of  nearly  every- 
thing that  has  made  nations  great  and  all-powerful  in  his- 
toric annals, — and  my  belief  is  that  what  has  been,  will  be 
again, — and  that  what  has  never  been,  will  never  be." 

"  You  mean  by  that,  I  suppose,  that  there  is  no  possi- 
bility of  doing  an}-thing  new, — no  way  of  branching  out  in 
some  better  and  untried  direction  ?  "  asked  Errington. 

Olaf  Giildmar  shook  his  head  emphatically.  "  You  can't 
do  it,"  he  said  decisively.  "  Everything  in  every  way  has 
been  begun  and  completed  and  then  forgotten  over  and 
over,  in  this  world, — to  be  begun  and  completed  and  for- 
gotten again,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  No  one 
nation  is  better  than  another  in  this  respect, — there  is, — 
there  can  be  nothing  new.  Norwa}7,  for  example,  has  had 
its  day  ;  whether  it  will  ever  have  another  I  know  not, — at 
any  rate,  I  shall  not  live  to  see  it.  And  yet,  what  a  past ! 
"  He  broke  off  and  his  e3'es  grew  meditative. 

Lorimer  looked  at  him.  "  You  would  have  been  a 
Viking,  Mr.  Giildmar,  had  you  lived  in  the  old  days,"  he 
said  with  a  smile. 

"I  should,  indeed  !  "  returned  the  old  man,  with  an  un- 
consciously haughty  gesture  of  his  head ;  "  and  no  better 
fate  could  have  befallen  me !  To  sail  the  seas  in  hot  pursuit 
of  one's  enemies,  or  in  search  of  further  conquest, — to  feel 
the  very  wind  and  sun  beating  up  the  blood  in  one's  veins, 
. — to  live  the  life  of  a  man — a  true  man !  ...  in  all  the 
pride  and  worth  of  strength,  and  invincible  vigor ! — how 
much  better  than  the  puling,  feeble,  sickly  existence,  led  by 
the  majoritj'  of  men  to-day!  I  dwell  apart  from  them  as 
much  as  I  can, — I  stoop  my  mind  and  body  in  the  joys  of 
Nature,  and  the  free  fresh  air, — but  often  I  feel  that  the  old 
days  of  the  heroes  must  have  been  best, — when  Gorm  the 
Bold  and  the  fierce  Siegfried  seized  Paris,  and  stabled  their 
horses  in  the  chapel  where  Charlemagne  lay  buried!" 

Pierre  Pi.prez  looked  up  with  a  faint  smile,  "Ah,  par- 
don !  But  that  was  surely  a  very  long  time  ago !  " 

"True!"  said  Giildmar  quietly.  "And  no  doubt  you 
will  not  believe  the  story  at  this  distance  of  years.  But  the 
day  is  coining  when  people  will  look  back  on  the  little 
chronicle  of  your  Empire, — your  commune, — your  republic, 
all  your  little  affairs,  and  will  say, '  Surely  these  things  are 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  10§ 

myths  ;  they  occurred, — if  they  occurred  at  all, — a  very 
long  time  ago! ' ' 

"  Monsieur  is  a  philosopher  !  "  said  Duprez,  with  a  good- 
humored  gesture ;  "  I  would  not  presume  to  contradict 
Mm." 

"  You  see,  my  lad,"  went  on  Giildmar  more  gently, 
"  there  is  much  in  our  ancient  Norwegian  history  that  is 
forgotten  or  ignored  by  students  of  to-day.  The  travellers 
that  come  hither  come  to  see  the  glories  of  our  glaciers 
and  fjords, — but  they  think  little  or  nothing  of  the  vanished 
tribe  of  heroes  who  once  possessed  the  land.  If  3-011  know 
your  Greek  history,  you  must  have  heard  of  Pythias,  who 
lived  three  hundred  and  fifty-six  years  before  Christ,  and 
who  was  taken  captive  by  a  band  of  Norseman  and  carried 
away  to  see  '  the  place  where  the  sun  slept  in  winter.' 
Most  probably  he  came  to  this  very  spot,  the  Altenfjord, — 
at  any  rate  the  ancient  Greeks  had  good  words  to  say  for 
the  '  Outside  Northwinders,'  as  they  called  us  Norwegians, 
for  the}'  reported  us  to  be  '  persons  living  in  peace  with  their 
gods  and  themselves.'  Again,  one  of  the  oldest  tribes  in 
the  world  came  among  us  in  times  past, — the  Phoenicians, — 
there  are  traces  among  us  still  of  their  customs  and  manners. 
Yes  !  we  have  a  great  deal  to  look  back  upon  with  pride  as 
well  as  sorrow, — and  much  as  I  hear  of  the  wonders  of  the 
New  World,  the  marvels  and  the  go-ahead  speed  of 
American  manners  and  civilization, — I  would  rather  be  a 
Norseman  than  a  Yankee."  And  he  laughed. 

"  There's  more  dignity  in  the  name,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Lorimer.  "  But  I  say,  Mr.  Giildmar,  you  are '  up '  in  history 
much  better  than  I  am.  The  annals  of  my  country  were 
grounded  into  my  tender  soul  early  in  life,  but  I  have  a 
very  hazy  recollection  of  them.  I  know  Henry  VIII.  got 
rid  of  his  wives  expeditiously  and  conveniently, — and  I  dis- 
tinctly remember  that  Queen  Elizabeth  wore  the  first  pair 
of  silk  stockings,  and  danced  a  kind  of  jig  in  them  with  the 
Earl  of  Leicester  ;  these  things  interested  me  at  the  time, — 
and  they  now  seen  firmly  impressed  on  my  memory  to  the 
exclusion  of  everything  else  that  might  possibly  be  more 
important." 

Old  Giildmar  smiled,  but  Thelma  laughed  outright  and 
her  eyes  danced  mirthfully. 

"  Ah,  I  do  know  you  now  !  "  she  said,  nodding  her  fair 
head  at  him  wisely.  "  You  are  not  anything  that  is  to  be 
believed  !  So  I  shall  well  understand  you, — that  is,  you  are 


110  THELMA. 

a  very  great  scholar, — but  that  it  pleases  you  to  pretend 
you  are  a  dunce !  " 

Lorimer's  face  brightened  into  a  very  gentle  and  winning 
softness  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Giildmar,  I  am  not  pretending  in 
the  least.  I'm  no  scholar.  Errington  is,  if  you  like  !  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I  should  never  have  learned  any- 
thing at  Oxford  at  all.  He  used  to  leap  over  a  difficulty 
while  I  was  looking  at  it.  Phil,  don't  interrupt  me, — you 
know  you  did  !  I  tell  you  he's  up  to  everything  :  Greek, 
Latin,  and  all  the  rest  of  it, — and,  what's  more,  he  writes 
well, — I  believe, — though  he'll  never  forgive  me  for  men- 
tioning it, — that  he  has  even  published  some  poems." 

"  Be  quiet,  George  !  "  exclaimed  Errington,  with  a  vexed 
laugh.  "  You  are  boring  Miss  Giildmar  to  death  !  " 

"  What  is  boring  ?  "  asked  Thelma  gently,  and  then  turn- 
ing her  eyes  full  on  the  young  Baronet,  she  added,  "  I  like 
to  hear  that  you  will  pass  your  days  sometimes  without 
shooting  the  birds  and  killing  the  fish ;  it  can  hurt  nobody 
for  you  to  write."  And  she  smiled  that  dreamy  pensive 
smile  of  hers  that  was  so  infinitely  bewitching.  "  You 
must  show  me  all  your  sweet  poems  1  " 

Errington  colored  hotly.  "  They  are  all  nonsense.  Miss 
Giildmar,"  he  said  quickly.  "  There's  nothing  '  sweet ' 
about  them,  I  tell  you  frankly !  All  rubbish,  every  line  of 
them ! " 

"  Then  you  should  not  write  them,"  said  Thelma  quietly. 
"  It  is  only  a  pity  and  a  disappointment." 

"  I  wish  every  one  were  of  your  opinion,"  laughed  Lori- 
mer,  "  it  would  spare  us  a  lot  of  indifferent  verse." 

"  Ah  !  you  have  the  chief  Skald  of  all  the  world  in  your 
land  !  "  cried  Giildmar,  bringing  his  fist  down  with  a  jovial 
thump  on  the  table.  "  He  can  teach  you  all  that  you  need 
to  know." 

"  Skald?  "  queried  Lorimer  dubiously.  "  Oh,  you  mean 
bard.  I  suppose  you  allude  to  Shakespeare  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  the  old  bonde  enthusiastically,  "  he  is  the 
only  glory  of  your  country  I  envy !  I  would  give  any- 
thing to  prove  him  a  Norwegian.  By  Valhalla !  had  he 
but  been  one  of  the  Bards  of  Odin,  the  world  might  have 
followed  the  grand  old  creed  still !  If  anything  could  ever 
persuade  me  to  be  a  Christian,  it  would  be  the  fact  that 
Shakespeare  was  one.  If  England's  name  is  rendered  im- 
perishable, it  will  be  through  the  fame  of  Shakespeare 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  Ill 

alone, — just  as  we  have  a  kind  of  tenderness  for  degraded 
modern  Greece,  because  of  Homer.  Ay,  ay  !  countries  and 
nations  are  worthless  enough  ;  it  is  only  the  great  names 
of  heroes  that  endure,  to  teach  the  lesson  that  is  never 
learned  sufficiently, — namety,  that  man  and  man  alone  is 
fitted  to  grasp  the  prize  of  immortality." 

"  Ye  believe  in  immortality  ? "  inquired  Macfarlane 
seriously. 

Giildmar's  keen  eyes  lighted  on  him  with  fiery  impetu- 
ousness. 

"  Believe  in  it  ?  I  possess  it !  How  can  it  be  taken 
from  me  ?  As  well  make  a  bird  without  wings,  a  tree  with- 
out sap,  an  ocean  without  depths,  as  expect  to  find  a  man 
without  an  immortal  soul !  What  a  question  to  ask  ?  Do 
you  not  possess  heaven's  gift  ?  and  wiry  should  not  I  ?  " 

"  No  offense,"  said  Macfarlane,  secretly  astonished  at  the 
old  bonders  fervor, — for  had  not  he,  though  himself  intend- 
ing to  become  a  devout  minister  of  the  Word, — had  not  he 
now  and  then  felt  a  creeping  doubt  as  to  whether,  after  all. 
there  was  any  truth  in  the  doctrine  of  another  life  than 
this  one.  u  I  only  thocht  ye  might  have  perhaps  questioned 
the  probabeelit}T  o't,  in  your  own  mind  ?  " 

"  I  never  question  Divine  authority,"  replied  Olaf  Giild- 
mar,  "  I  pity  those  that  do  1  " 

"  And  this  Divine  authority  ?  "  said  Durprez  suddenly 
with  a  delicate  sarcastic  smile,  "  how  and  where  do  you 
perceive  it  ?  " 

"  In  the  very  Law  that  compels  me  to  exist,  young  sir," 
said  Giildmar, — "  in  the  mysteries  of  the  universe  about 
me, — the  glory  of  the  heavens, — the  wonders  of  the  sea ! 
You  have  perhaps  lived  in  cities  all  your  life,  and  your 
mind  is  cramped  a  bit.  No  wonder,  .  .  .  you  can  hardly 
see  the  stars  above  the  roofs  of  a  wilderness  of  houses. 
Cities  are  men's  work, — the  gods  have  never  had  a  finger 
in  the  building  of  them.  Dwelling  in  them,  I  suppose  you 
cannot  help  forgetting  Divine  authority  altogether ;  but 
here, — here  among  the  mountains,  you  would  soon  re- 
member it !  You  should  live  here, — it  would  make  a  man 
of  you  I " 

"  And  you  do  not  consider  me  a  man  ?  "  inquired  Duprez 
with  imperturbable  good-humor. 

Giildmar  laughed.  "  Well,  not  quite!  "  he  admitted  can- 
didlj',  "  there's  not  enough  muscle  about  you.  I  confess  I 
like  to  see  strong  fellows — fellows  fit  to  rule  the  planet  on 


112  THELMA. 

which  they  are  placed.  That's  my  whim ! — but  you're  a 
neat  little  chap  enough,  and  I  dare  say  you  can  hold  your 
own ! " 

And  his  eyes  twinkled  good-temperedly  as  he  filled  him- 
self another  glass  of  his  host's  fine  Burgundy,  and  drank  it 
off,  while  Durprez,  with  a  half-plaintive,  half-comical  shrug 
of  resignation  to  Guldmar's  verdict  on  his  personal  appear- 
ance, asked  Thelma  if  she  would  favor  them  with  a  song. 
She  rose  from  her  seat  instantly,  without  any  affected 
hesitation,  and  went  to  the  piano.  She  had  a  delicate  touch, 
and  accompanied  herself  with  great  taste, — but  her  voice, 
full,  penetrating,  rich  and  true, — was  one  of  the  purest  and 
most  sympathetic  ever  possessed  by  woman,  and  its  fresh- 
ness was  unspoilt  by  any  of  the  varied  "  systems  "  of  tor- 
ture invented  by  singing-masters  for  the  ingenious  destruc- 
tion of  the  delicate  vocal  organ.  She  sang  a  Norwegian 
love-song  in  the  original  tongue,  which  might  be  roughly 
translated  as  follows  : — 

"  Lovest  thou  me  for  my  beauty's  sake? 

Love  me  not  then  ! 
Love  the  victorious,  glittering  Sun, 
The  fadeless,  deathless,  marvellous  One! 

"  Lovest  thou  me  for  my  youth's  sake? 

Love  me  not  then  ! 

Love  the  triumphant,  unperishing  Spring, 
Who  every  year  new  charms  doth  bring ! 

"  Lovest  thou  me  for  treasure's  sake? 

Oh,  love  me  not  then  ! 
Love  the  deep,  the  wonderful  Sea, 
Its  jewels  are  worthier  love  than  me ! 

"  Lovest  thou  me  for  Love's  own  sake  ? 

Ah  sweet,  then  love  me ! 

More  than  the  Sun  and  the  Spring  and  the  Sea, 
Is  the  faithful  heart  I  will  yield  to  thee  ! " 

A  silence  greeted  the  close  of  her  song.  Though  the 
young  men  were  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  the  words  still 
old  Giildmar  translated  them  for  their  benefit,  they  could 
feel  the  intensity  of  the  passion  vibrating  through  her  ring- 
ing tones, — and  Errington  sighed  involuntarily.  She  heard 
the  sigh,  and  turned  round  on  the  music-stool  laughing. 

"Are  you  so  tired,  or  sad,  or  what  is  it  ?"  she  asked 
merrily.  "  It  is  too  melancholy  a  tune  ?  And  I  was  fool- 
ish to  sing  it, — because  you  cannot  understand  the  meaning 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  113 

of  it.  It  is  all  about  love, — and  of  course  love  is  always 
sorrowful." 

"  Always  ?  "  asked  Lorimer,  with  a  half-smile. 

u  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  frankly,  with  a  pretty  dep- 
recatory gesture  of  her  hands, — u  but  all  books  say  so ! 
It  must  be  a  great  pain,  and  also  a  great  happiness.  Let 
me  think  what  I  can  sing  to  you  now, — but  perhaps  you 
will  yourself  sing?" 

u  Not  one  of  us  have  a  voice,  Miss  Giildmar,"  said  Erring- 
ton.  "  I  used  to  think  I  had,  but  Lorimer  discouraged  my 
efforts." 

u  Men  shouldn't  sing,"  observed  Lorimer ;  "  if  they  only 
knew  how  awfully  ridiculous  they  look,  standing  up  in 
dress-coats  and  white  ties,  pouring  forth  inane  love-ditties 
that  nobody  wants  to  hear,  they  wouldn't  do  it.  Only  a 
a  woman  looks  pretty  while  singing." 

"Ah,  that  is  very  nice!"  said  Thelma,  with  a  demure 
smile.  u  Then  I  am  agreeable  to  you  when  I  sing  ?  " 

Agreeable  ?  This  was  far  too  tame  a  word — they  all  rose 
from  the  table  and  came  towards  her,  with  man}-  assurances 
of  their  delight  and  admiration  ;  but  she  put  all  their  com- 
pliments aside  with  a  little  gesture  that  was  both  incredu- 
lous and  peremptory. 

u  You  must  not  say  so  many  things  in  praise  of  me,'"  she 
said,  with  a  swift  upward  glance  at  Errington,  where  he 
leaned  on  the  piano  regarding  her.  u  It  is  nothing  to  be 
able  to  sing.  It  is  only  like  the  birds,  but  we  cannot  un- 
derstand the  words  they  say,  just  as  you  cannot  understand 
Norwegian.  Listen, — here  is  a  little  ballad  you  will  all 
know,"  and  she  played  a  soft  prelude,  while  her  voice,  sub- 
dued to  a  plaintive  murmur,  rippled  out  in  the  dainty  verses 
of  Sainte-Beuve — 

"Sur  ma  lyre,  1'autre  fois 

Dans  nn  bois, 

Ma  main  preludait  £  peine  ; 
Une  colombe  descend 

En  passant, 
Blanche  sur  le  lutb  d'ebene. 

"  Mais  an  lieu  d'accords  toucbants, 

De  doux  chants, 
La  colombe  gemissante 
Me  demand  e  par  pi  tie 

Sa  inoitie 
Sa  moiti6  loin  d'elle  absente!" 


114  THELMA. 

She  sang  this  seriously  and  sweetly  till  she  came  to  the 
last  three  lines,  when,  catching  Errington's  earnest  gaze, 
her  voice  quivered  and  her  cheeks  flushed.  She  rose  from 
the  piano  as  soon  as  she  had  finished,  and  said  to  the  bonde, 
who  had  been  watching  her  with  proud  and  gratified  looks — 

"  It  is  growing  late,  father.  We  must  say  good-bye  to 
our  friends  and  return  home." 

"  Not  yet  1 "  eagerly  implored  Sir  Philip.  "  Come  up  on 
deck, — we  will  have  coffee  there,  and  afterwards  you  shall 
leave  us  when  you  will." 

Guldmar  acquiesced  in  this  arrangement,  before  his 
daughter  had  time  to  raise  any  objection,  and  they  all  went 
on  deck,  where  a  comfortable  lounging  chair  was  placed  for 
Thelma,  facing  the  most  gorgeous  portion  of  the  glowing 
sky,  which  on  this  evening  was  like  a  moving  mass  of 
molten  gold,  split  asunder  here  and  there  by  angiy  ragged- 
looking  rifts  of  crimson.  The  young  men  grouped  them- 
selves together  at  the  prow  of  the  vessel  in  order  to  smoke 
their  cigars  without  annoyance  to  Thelma.  Old  Guldmar 
did  not  smoke,  but  he  talked, — and  Errington  after  seeing 
them  all  fairly  absorbed  in  an  argument  on  the  best  meth- 
ods of  spearing  salmon,  moved  quietly  away  to  where  the 
girl  was  sitting,  her  great  pensive  eyes  fixed  on  the  burn- 
ing splendors  of  the  heavens. 

"  Are  you  warm  enough  there  ?  "  he  asked,  and  there  was 
an  unconscious  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion, "  or  shall  I  fetch  you  a  wrap  ?  " 

She  smiled.  "  I  have  my  hood,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the 
warmest  thing  I  ever  wear,  except,  of  course,  in  winter." 

Philip  looked  at  the  hood  as  she  drew  it  more  closely 
over  her  head,  and  thought  that  surely  no  more  becoming 
article  of  apparel  ever  was  designed  for  woman's  wear.  He 
had  never  seen  anything  like  it  either  in  color  or  texture, 
— it  was  of  a  peculiarly  warm,  rich  crimson,  like  the  heart 
of  a  red  damask  rose,  and  it  suited  the  bright  hair  and 
tender,  thoughtful  eyes  of  its  owner  to  perfection. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  drawing  a  little  nearer  and  speaking 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  have  you  forgiven  me  for  my  rudeness 
the  first  time  I  saw  you  ?  " 

She  looked  a  little  troubled. 

"  Perhaps  also  I  was  rude,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  did  not 
know  j'ou.  I  thought — " 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  he  eagerly  interrupted  her.  "  It 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  115 

was  very  impertinent  of  me  to  ask  you  for  your  name.  I 
should  have  found  it  out  for  myself,  as  I  /iauedone." 

And  he  smiled  at  her  as  he  said  the  last  words  with 
marked  emphasis.  She  raised  her  eyes  wistfully. 

"  And  you  are  glad  ?  "  she  asked  softly  and  with  a  sort 
of  wonder  in  her  accents. 

"  Glad  to  know  your  name  ?  glad  to  know  you !  Of 
course  !  Can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  But  why  ?  "  persisted  Thelma.  "  It  is  not  as  if  you 
were  lonely, — you  have  friends  already.  We  are  nothing  to 
you.  Soon  you  will  go  away,  and  you  will  think  of  the 
Altenfjord  as  a  dream, — and  our  names  will  be  forgotten. 
That  is  natural !  " 

What  a  foolish  rush  of  passion  filled  his  heart  as  she  spoke 
in  those  mellow,  almost  plaintive  accents, — what  wild  words 
leaped  to  his  lips  and  what  an  effort  it  cost  him  to  keep 
them  back.  The  heat  and  impetuosity  of  Romeo, — whom 
up  to  the  present  he  had  been  inclined  to  consider  a  partic- 
ularly stupid  youth, — was  now  quite  comprehensible  to  his 
mind,  and  he,  the  cool,  self-possessed  Englishman,  was 
ready  at  that  moment  to  outrival  Juliet's  lover,  in  his  ut- 
most excesses  of  amorous  folly.  In  spite  of  his  self-re- 
straint, his  voice  quivered  a  little  as  he  answered  her — 

"  I  shall  never  forget  the  Altenfjord  or  you,  Miss  Giild- 
mar.  Don't  you  know  there  are  some  things  that  cannot 
be  forgotten  ?  such  as  a  sudden  glimpse  of  fine  scenery, — a 
beautiful  song,  or  a  pathetic  poem  ?  "  She  bent  her  head  in 
assent.  "  And  here  there  is  so  much  to  remember — the 
light  of  the  midnight  sun, — the  glorious  mountains,  the 
loveliness  of  the  whole  land  I " 

"  Is  it  better  than  other  countries  you  have  seen  ? " 
asked  the  girl  with  some  interest. 

"  Much  better !  "  returned  Sir  Philip  fervently.  "  In 
fact,  there  is  no  place  like  it  in  my  opinion."  He  paused  at 
the  sound  of  her  pretty  laughter. 

"  You  are — what  is  it  ? — ecstatic !  "  she  said  mirthfully. 
"  Tell  me,  have  }rou  been  to  the  south  of  France  and  the 
Pyrenees  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  been  all  over 
the  Continent, — travelled  about  it  till  I'm  tired  of  it.  Do 
you  like  the  south  of  France  better  than  Norway  ?  " 

u  No, — not  so  very  much  better,"  she  said  dubiously. 
"  Ar.d  yet  a  little.  It  is  so  warm  and  bright  there,  and  the 
people  are  gay.  Here  <;hey  are  stern  and  sullen.  My 


116  THELMA. 

father  loves  to  sail  the  seas,  and  when  I  first  went  to  school 
at  Aries,  he  took  me  a  long  and  beautiful  voyage.  We  went 
from  Christiansund  to  Holland,  and  saw  all  those  pretty 
Dutch  cities  with  their  canals  and  quaint  bridges.  Then 
we  went  through  the  English  Channel  to  Brest, — then  by 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  to  Baj'onne.  Bayonne  seemed  to  me 
very  lovely,  but  we  left  it  soon,  and  travelled  a  long  way  by 
land,  seeing  all  sorts  of  wonderful  things,  till  we  came  to 
Aries.  And  though  it  is  such  a  long  route,  and  not  one  for 
many  persons  to  take,  I  have  travelled  to  Aries  and  back 
twice  that  way,  so  all  there  is  familiar  to  me, — and  in  some 
things  I  do  think  it  better  than  Norway." 

"  What  induced  your  father  to  send  you  so  far  away  from 
him  ?  "  asked  Philip  rather  curiously. 

The  girl's  eyes  softened  tenderly.  "  Ah,  that  is  easy  to 
understand  ! "  she  said.  "  My  mother  came  from  Aries." 

"  She  was  French,  then?"  he  exclaimed  with  some  sur- 
prise. 

"  No,"  she  answered  gravely.  "  She  was  Norwegian,  be- 
cause her  father  and  mother  both  were  of  this  land.  She 
was  what  they  call  '  born  sadly.'  You  must  not  ask  me 
any  more  about  her,  please !  " 

Errington  apologized  at  once  with  some  embarrassment, 
and  a  deeper  color  than  usual  on  his  face.  She  looked  up  at 
him  quite  frankly. 

"  It  is  possible  I  will  tell  you  her  history  some  day,"  she 
said,  "  when  we  shall  know  each  other  better.  I  do  like  to 
talk  to  you  very  much  !  I  suppose  there  are  many  Eng- 
lishmen like  you  ?  " 

Philip  laughed.  "  I  don't  think  I  am  at  all  exceptional ! 
why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  have  seen  some  of 
them,"  she  said  slowly, "and  they  are  stupid.  They  shoot, 
shoot, — fish,  fish,  all  day,  and  eat  a  great  deal.  .  .  ." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Guldmar,  I  also  do  all  these  things  !  " 
declared  Errington  amusedly.  "  These  are  only  our  surface 
faults.  Englishmen  are  the  best  fellows  to  be  found  any- 
where. You  mustn't  judge  them  by  their  athletic  sports, 
or  their  vulgar  appetites.  You  must  appeal  to  their  hearts 
when  you  want  to  know  them." 

"  Or  to  their  pockets,  and  you  will  know  them  still  bet- 
ter !  "  said  Thelma  almost  mischievously,  as  she  raised  her- 
self in  her  chair  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee  from  the  tray  that 
was  then  being  handed  to  her  by  the  respectful  steward. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  117 

'  Ah,  bow  good  this  is !     It  reminds  me  of  our  coffee  lunch, 
eon  at  Aries !  " 

Errington  watched  her  with  a  half-smile,  but  said  no 
more,  as  the  others  now  came  up  to  claim  their  share  of  her 
company. 

"  I  say !  "  said  Lorimer,  lazily  throwing  himself  full 
length  on  the  deck  and  looking  up  at  her,  "  come  and  see 
us  spear  a  salmon  to-morrow,  Miss  Giildmar.  Your 
father  is  going  to  show  us  how  to  do  it  in  the  proper 
Norse  style." 

"  That  is  for  men,"  said  Thelma  loftily.  "  Women  must 
know  nothing  about  such  things." 

"  By  Jove  !  "  and  Lorimer  looked  profoundly  astonished. 
"  Why,  Miss  Giildmar,  women  are  going  in  for  everything 
nowadays !  Hunting,  shooting,  bull-fighting,  duelling, 
horse-whipping,  lecturing, — heaven  knows  what !  They 
stop  at  nothing — salmon-spearing  is  a  mere  trifle  in  the  list 
of  modern  feminine  accomplishments." 

Thelma  smiled  down  upon  him  benignly.  "  You  will  al- 
ways be  the  same,"  she  said  with  a  sort  of  indulgent  air. 
"  It  is  your  delight  to  say  things  upside  down  ?  But  you 
shall  not  make  me  believe  that  women  do  all  these  dreadful 
things.  Because,  how  is  it  possible  ?  The  men  would  not 
allow  them ! " 

Errington  laughed,  and  Lorimer  appeared  stupefied  with 
surprise. 

"  The  men — would — not — allow  them  ?  "  he  repeated 
slowly.  "  Oh,  Miss  Giildmar,  little  do  you  realize  the  state 
of  things  at  the  present  day  !  The  glamor  of  Viking  mem- 
ories clings  about  you  still !  Don't  you  know  the  power  of 
man  has  passed  away,  and  that  ladies  do  exactly  as  they 
like  ?  It  is  easier  to  control  the  thunderbolt  than  to  pre- 
vent a  woman  having  her  own  way." 

"  All  that  is  nonsense  1 "  said  Thelma  decidedly. 
"  Where  there  is  a  man  to  rule,  he  must  rule,  that  is 
certain." 

"  Is  that  positively  your  opinion  ?  "  and  Lorimer  looked 
more  astonished  than  ever. 

"  It  is  everybody's  opinion,  of  course !  "  averred  Thelma. 
"  How  foolish  it  would  be  if  women  did  not  obey  men  1 
The  world  would  be  all  confusion!  Ah,  you  see  3ron  can 
not  make  me  think  your  funny  thoughts;  it  is  no  use  !  " 
And  she  laughed  and  rose  from  her  chair,  adding  with  a 


118  THELMA. 

gentle  persuasive  air,  "  Father  dear,  is  it  not  time  to  say 
good-bye  ?  " 

"  Truly  I  think  it  is !  "  returned  Giildmar,  giving  himself 
a  shake  like  an  old  lion,  as  he  broke  off'  a  rather  tedious 
conversation  he  had  been  having  with  MacFarlane.  "  We 
shall  have  Sigurd  coming  to  look  for  us,  and  poor  Britta 
will  think  we  have  left  her  too  long  alone.  Thank  }'ou,  my 
lad !  "  this  to  Sir  Philip,  who  instantly  gave  orders  for  the 
boat  to  be  lowered.  "  You  have  given  us  a  day  of  thorough, 
wholesome  enjoyment.  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  return  it 
in  some  way.  You  must  let  me  see  as  much  of  you  as 
possible." 

They  shook  hands  cordially,  and  Errington  proposed  to 
escort  them  back  as  far  as  their  own  pier,  but  this  offer 
Giildmar  refused. 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  exclaimed  cheerily.  "  With  four  oarsmen 
to  row  us  along,  why  should  we  take  you  away  from  your 
friends  ?  I  won't  hear  of  such  a  thing !  And  now,  re- 
garding the  great  fall  of  Njedegorze ;  Mr.  Macfarlane 
here  says  you  have  not  visited  it  yet.  Well  the  best 
guide  you  can  have  ihere  is  Sigurd.  We'll  make  up  a  party 
and  go  when  it  is  agreeable-  to  you ;  it  is  a  grand  sight, — 
well  worth  seeing.  To-morrow  we  shall  meet  again  for  the 
salmon-spearing, — I  warrant  I  shall  be  able  to  make  the 
time  pass  quickly  for  you !  How  long  do  you  think  of 
staying  here  ?  " 

"  As  long  as  possible  !  "  answered  Errington  absently,  his 
eyes  wandering  to  Thelma,  who  was  just  then  shaking 
hands  with  his  friends  and  bidding  them  farewell. 

Giildmar  laughed  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"  That  means  till  you  are  tired  of  the  place,"  he  said  good- 
humoredly.  "  Well  you  shall  not  be  dull  if  I  can  prevent 
it !  Good-bye,  and  thank?  for  your  hospitality." 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  added  Theima  gently,  coming  up  at  that 
moment  and  laying  her  soft  hand  in  his.  "  I  have  been  so 
happy  all  day,  and  it  is  all  your  kindness!  I  am  very 
grateful !  " 

"  It  is  I  who  have  cause  to  be  grateful,"  said  Errington 
hurriedly,  clasping  her  hand  warmly,  "  for  your  company 
and  that  of  your  father.  I  trust  we  shall  have  many  more 
pleasant  days  together." 

"  I  hope  so  too !  "  she  answered  simply,  and  then,  the 
boat  being  ready,  they  departed.  Errington  and  Lorimer 
leaned  on  the  deck-rails,  waving  their  hats  and  watching 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  lid 

them  disappear  over  the  gleaming  water,  till  the  very  last 
glimpse  of  Thelma's  crimson  hood  had  vanished,  and  then 
they  turned  to  rejoin  their  companions,  who  were  strolling 
up  and  down  smojting.__  +~~,*A. 

"Belle  'comr&e  un  ange!"  said  Duprez  briefly.  u  In 
short,  I  doubt  if  the  angels  are  so  good-looking  !  " 

"  The  auld  pagan's  a  fine  scholar,"  added  Macfarlane 
meditatively.  "  He  corrected  me  in  a  bit  o'  Latin." 

"  Did  he,  indeed  ?  "  And  Lorimer  laughed  indolently. 
"  I  suppose  you  think  better  of  him  now,  Sandy  ?  " 

Sandy  made  no  reply,  and  as  Errington  persisted  in  turn- 
ing the  conversation  away  from  the  merits  or  demerits  of 
their  recent  guests,  they  soon  entered  on  other  topics.  But 
that  night,  before  retiring  to  rest,  Lorimer  laid  a  hand  on 
his  friend's  shoulder,  and  said  quietly,  with  a  keen  look — 

"  Well,  old  man,  have  you  made  up  3'our  mind?  Have  I 
seen  the  future  Lady  Bruce-Errington  ?  " 

Sir  Philip  smiled, — then,  after  a  brief  pause,  answered 
steadily — 

"  Yes,  George,  you  have  !     That  is, — if  I  tan  win  her  I  " 

Lorimer  laughed  a  little  and  sighed.  "  There's  no  doubt 
about  that,  Phil."  And  eyeing  Errington 's  fine  figure  and 
noble  features  musingly,  he  repeated  again  thoughtfully — 
"  No  doubt  about  that,  my  boy  1 ''  Then  after  a  pause  he 
said,  somewhat  abruptly,  u  Time  to  turn  in — good  night  1  " 

"  Good  night,  old  fellow  !  "  And  Errington  wrung  his 
hand  warmly,  and  left  him  to  repose. 

But  Lorimer  had  rather  a  bad  night, — he  tossed  and 
tumbled  a  good  deal,  and  had  dreams, — unusual  visitors 
with  him, — and  once  or  twice  he  muttered  in  his  sleep, — 
"  No  doubt  about  it — not  the  least  in  the  world — and  if 
there  were " 

But  the  conclusion  of  this  sentence  was  inaudible. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"Tu  vas  faire  un  beau  reve, 

Et  t'enivrer  d'nn  plaisir  dangereux. 
Sur  ton  chemin  l'6toile  qui  se  16ve 
Longtemps  encore  6blouira  tes  yeux ! " 

DE  MUSSET. 

A  FORTOTGHT  passed.  The  first  excursion  in  the  Eulalie 
had  been  followed  by  others  of  a  similar  kind,  and  Erring- 
ton's  acquaintance  with  the  Giijdmars  was  fast  ripening 


120  THELMA. 

into  a  pleasant  intimacy.  It  had  grown  customar}7  for  the 
young  men  to  spend  that  part  of  the  day  which,  in  spite  of 
persistent  sunshine,  they  still  called  evening,  in  the  com- 
fortable, quaint  parlor  of  the  old  farmhouse, — looking  at  the 
view  through  the  rose-wreathed  windows, — listening  to  the 
fantastic  legends  of  Norway  as  told  by  Olaf  Giildmar, — or 
watching  Thelma's  picturesque  figure,  as  she  sat  pensively 
apart  in  her  shadowed  corner  spinning.  They  had  fratern- 
ized with  Sigurd  too — that  is,  as  far  as  he  would  permit 
them — for  the  unhappy  dwarf  was  uncertain  of  temper,  and 
if  at  one  hour  he  were  docile  and  yielding  as  a  chiH.,  the 
next  he  would  be  found  excited  and  furious  at  some  imagi- 
nary slight  that  he  fancied  had  been  inflicted  upor  him. 
Sometimes,  if  good-humored,  he  would  talk  almost  ration- 
ally,— only  allowing  his  fancy  to  play  with  poetical  ideas 
concerning  the  scathe  flowers,  or  the  sunlight, — but  he  was 
far  more  often  sullen  and  silent.  He  would  draw  a  low 
chair  to  Thelma's  side,  and  sit  there  with  half-closed  eyes 
and  compressed  lips,  and  none  could  tell  whether  he 
listened  to  the  conversation  around  him,  or  was  utterly  in- 
different to  it.  He  had  taken  a  notable  fancy  to  Lorimer, 
but  he  avoided  Errington  in  the  most  marked  and  persistent 
manner.  The  latter  did  his  best  to  overcome  this  unreason- 
able dislike,  but  his  efforts  were  useless, — and  deciding  in 
his  own  mind  that  it  was  best  to  humor  Sigurd's  vagaries, 
he  soon  let  him  alone,  and  devoted  his  attention  more 
entirely  to  Thelma. 

One  evening,  after  supper  at  the  farmhouse,  Lorimer,  who 
for  some  time  had  been  watching  Philip  and  Thelma  con- 
versing together  in  low  tones  near  the  open  window,  rose 
from  his  seat  quietly,  without  disturbing  the  hilarity  of  the 
bonde,  who  was  in  the  middle  of  a  rollicking  sea-story,  told 
for  Macfarlane's  entertainment, — and  slipped  out  into  the 
garden,  where  he  strolled  along  rather  absently  till  he  found 
himself  in  the  little  close  thicket  of  pines, — the  very  same 
spot  where  he  and  Philip  had  stood  on  the  first  day  of  their 
visit  thither.  He  threw  himself  down  on  the  soft  emerald 
moss  and  lit  a  cigar,  sighing  rather  drearily  as  he  did  so. 

"  Upon  my  life,"  he  mused,  with  a  half-smile,  "  I  am  very 
nearly  being  a  hero, — a  regular  stage-martyr, — the  noble 
creature  of  the  piece  !  By  Jove,  I  wish  I  were  a  soldier ! 
I'm  certain  I  could  stand  the  enemy's  fire  better  than  this! 
Self-denial  ?  Well,  no  wonder  the  preachers  make  such  a 
fuss  about  it.  It's  a  tough,  uncomfortable  duty.  But  am 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  121 

I  self-denying  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it  1  Look  here,  George  Lori- 
uicr  " — here  he  tapped  himself  very  vigorously  on  his  broad 
chest — "  don't  you  imagine  yourself  to  be  either  virtuous 
or  magnanimous  !  If  you  were  anything  of  a  man  at  all 
you  would  never  let  your  feelings  get  the  better  of  you, — 
you  would  be  sublimely  indifferent,  stoically  calm, — and,  as 
it  is, — you  know  what  a  sneaking,  hang-dog  state  of  envy 
you  were  in  j  ust  now  when  you  came  out  of  that  room  1 
Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself, — rascal  ? " 

The  inner  self  he  thus  addressed  was  most  probably 
abashed  by  this  adjuration,  for  his  countenance  cleared  a 
little,  as  though  he  had  received  an  apology  from  his  own 
conscience.  He  puffed  lazily  at  his  cigar,  and  felt  some- 
what soothed.  Light  steps  below  him  attracted  his  atten- 
tion, and,  looking  down  from  the  little  knoll  on  which  he 
lay,  he  saw  Thelma  and  Philip  pass.  They  were  walking 
slowly  along  a  little  winding  path  that  led  to  the  orchard, 
which  was  situated  at  some  little  distance  from  the  house. 
The  girl's  head  was  bent,  and  Philip  was  talking  to  her  with 
evident  eagerness.  Lorimer  looked  after  them  earnestly, 
and  his  honest  eyes  were  full  of  trouble. 

"  God  bless  them  both ! "  he  murmured  half  aloud. 
"  There's  no  harm  in  saying  that,  any  how !  Dear  old  Phil  1 
I  wonder  whether " 

What  he  would  have  said  was  uncertain,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment he  was  considerably  startled  by  the  sight  of  a  meagre, 
pale  face  peering  through  the  parted  pine  boughs, — a  face 
in  which  two  wild  eyes  shone  with  a  blue-green  glitter,  like 
that  of  newly  sharpened  steel. 

"  Hullo,  Sigurd ! "  said  Lorimer  good-naturedly,  as  he 
recognized  his  visitor.  "  What  are  you  up  to?  Going  to 
climb  a  tree?" 

Sigurd  pushed  aside  the  branches  cautiously  and  ap- 
proached. He  sat  down  by  Lorimer,  and,  taking  his  hand, 
kissed  it  deferentially. 

"  I  followed  you.  I  saw  you  go  away  to  grieve  alone.  I 
came  to  grieve  also ! "  he  said  with  a  patient  gentleness. 

Lorimer  laughed  languidly.  "  By  Jove,  Sigurd,  you're 
too  clever  for  your  age !  Think  I  came  away  to  grieve, 
eh  ?  Not  so,  my  boy — came  away  to  smoke  I  There's  a 
come-down  for  you !  I  never  grieve — don't  know  how  to  do 
it.  What  is  grief?" 

"  To  love  1 "  answered  Sigurd  promptly.  "  To  see  a 
beautiful  elf  with  golden  wings  come  fluttering,  fluttering 


122  fBELMA. 

gently  down  from  the  sky, — you  open  your  arms  to  catch 
her — so !  ...  and  just  as  you  think  you  have  her,  she 
leans  only  a  little  bit  on  one  side,  and  falls,  not  into  your 
heart — no ! — into  the  heart  of  some  one  else !  That  is 
grief,  because,  when  she  has  gone, no  more  elves  comedown 
from  the  sky, — for  you,  at  any  rate, — good  things  may  come 
for  others, — but  for  you  the  heavens  are  empty  1 " 

Lori  me  r  was  silent,  looking  at  the  speaker  curiously. 

u  How  do  you  get  all  this  nonsense  into  your  head, eh  ?  * 
he  inquired  kindly. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Sigurd  with  a  sigh.  "  It 
comes !  But,  tell  me," — and  he  smiled  wistfully — "  it  is 
true,  dear  friend — good  friend — it  is  all  true,  is  it  not  ?  For 
you  the  heavens  are  empty  ?  You  know  it ! " 

Lorimer  flushed  hotly,  and  then  grew  strangely  pale. 
After  a  pause,  he  said  in  his  usual  indolent  way — 

"  Look  here,  Sigurd ;  you're  romantic !  I'm  not.  I 
know  nothing  about  elves  or  empty  heavens.  I'm  all  right ! 
Don't  you  bother  yourself  about  me." 

The  dwarf  studied  his  face  attentively,  and  a  smile  of  al- 
most fiendish  cunning  sudden ty  illumined  his  thin  features. 
He  laid  his  weak-looking  white  hand  on  the  young  man's 
arm  and  said  in  a  lower  tone — 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do.     Kill  him !  " 

The  last  two  words  were  uttered  with  such  intensity  of 
meaning  that  Lorimer  positively  recoiled  from  the  accents, 
and  the  terrible  look  which  accompanied  them. 

"  I  say,  Sigurd,  this  won't  do,"  he  remonstrated  gravely. 
"  You  mustn't  talk  about  killing,  you  know  !  It's  not  good 
for  you.  People  don't  kill  each  other  nowaday  s  so  easily  as 
you  seem  to  think.  It  can't  be  done,  Sigurd !  Nobody 
wants  to  do  it." 

"It  can  be  done !  "  reiterated  the  dwarf  imperatively. 
"  It  must  be  done,  and  either  you  or  I  will  do  it  1  He  shall 
not  rob  us, — he  shall  not  steal  the  treasure  of  the  golden 
midnight.  He  shall  not  gather  the  rose  of  all  roses 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Lorimer  suddenly.  "  Who  are  you  talking 
about  ?  " 

"  Who !  "  cried  Sigurd  excitedly.  "  Surely  you  know. 
Of  him — that  tall,  proud,  grey-eyed  Englishman, — your  foe, 
your  rival ;  the  rich,  cruel  Errington.  .  .  ." 

Lorimer's  hand  fell  heavily  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  voice 
was  very  stern. 

"  What  nonsense,  Sigurd  1     You  don't  know  what  you 


THE  LAtfD  OF  THE  MIDNIGBT  8VXT.  123 

are  talking  about  to-day.  Errington  my  foe  !  Good  heavens! 
Why,  he's  my  best  friend  !  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

Sigurd  stared  up  at  him  in  vacant  surprise,  but  nodded 
feebly. 

"  Well,  mind  you  remember  it !  The  spirits  tell  lies,  my 
boy,  if  they  say  that  he  is  my  enemy.  I  would  give  my 
life  to  save  his  !  " 

He  spoke  quietly,  and  rose  from  his  seat  on  the  moss  as 
he  finished  his  words,  and  his  face  had  an  expression  that 
was  both  noble  and  resolute. 

Sigurd  still  gazed  upon  him.  "  And  you, — you  do  not 
love  Thelma?"  he  murmured. 

Loriraer  started,  but  controlled  himself  instantly.  His 
frank  English  eyes  met  the  feverishly  brilliant  ones  fixed  so 
'appealingly  upon  him. 

"  Certainly  not !  "  he  said  calmly,  with  a  serene  smile. 
"  What  makes  you  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  Q.utte  wrong, 
Sigurd, — the  spirits  have  made  a  mistake  again  !  Come 
along, — let  us  join  the  others." 

But  Sigurd  would  not  accompany  him.  He  sprang  away 
like  a  frightened  animal,  in  haste,  and  abruptly  plunging 
into  the  depths  of  a  wood  that  bordered  on  Olaf  Giildmar's 
grounds,  was  soon  lost  to  sight.  Lorimer  looked  after  him 
in  a  little  perplexity. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  ever  gets  dangerous  ?  "  he  thought.  "  A 
fellow  with  such  queer  notions  might  do  some  serious  harm 
without  meaning  it.  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  him !  " 

And  once  or  twice  during  tUat  same  evening,  he  felt  in- 
clined to  speak  to  Errington  OTI  the  subject,  but  no  suitable 
opportunity  presented  itself — and  after  a  while,  with  his 
habitual  indolence,  he  partly  forgot  the  circumstance. 

On  the  following  Sunday  afternoon  Thelma  sat  alone 
under  the  wide  blossom-covered  porch,  reading.  Her  father 
and  Sigurd, — accompanied  by  Errington  and  his  friends, — 
had  all  gone  for  a  mountain  ramble,  promising  to  return  for 
supper,  a  substantial  meal  which  Britta  was  already  busy 
preparing.  The  afternoon  was  very  warm, — one  of  those 
long,  lazy  stretches  of  heat  and  brilliancy  in  which  Nature 
seems  to  have  lain  down  to  rest  like  a  child  tired  of  play, 
sleeping  in  the  sunshine  with  drooping  flowers  in  her  hands. 
The  very  ripple  of  the  stream  seemed  hushed,  and  Thelma, 
though  her  eyes  were  bent  seriously  on  the  book  she  held, 
sighed  once  or  twice  heavily  as  though  she  were  tired. 
There  was  a  change  in  the  girl, — an  undefinable  something 


124  THELMA. 

seemed  to  have  passed  over  her  and  toned  down  the  redun- 
dant brightness  of  her  beauty.  She  was  paler, — and  there 
were  darker  shadows  than  usual  under  the  splendor  of  her 
eyes.  Her  very  attitude,  as  she  leaned  her  head  against 
the  dark,  fantastic  carving  of  the  porch,  had  a  touch  of  list- 
lessness  and  indifference  in  it ;  her  sweetly  arched  lips 
drooped  with  a  plaintive  little  line  at  the  corners,  and  her 
whole  air  was  indicative  of  fatigue,  mingled  with  sadness. 
She  looked  up  now  and  then  from  the  printed  page,  and  her 
gaze  wandered  over  the  stretch  of  the  scented,  flower-filled 
garden,  to  the  little  silvery  glimmer  of  the  Fjord  from 
whence  arose,  like  delicate  black  streaks  against  the  sky, 
the  slender  masts  of  the  Eulalie, — and  then  she  would  re- 
sume her  reading  with  a  slight  movement  of  impatience. 

The  volume  she  held  was  Victor  Hugo's  "  Orientales," 
and  though  her  sensitive  imagination  delighted  in  poetry  as 
much  as  in  sunshine,  she  found  it  for  once  hard  to  rivet  her 
attention  as  closely  as  she  wished  to  do,  on  the  exquisite 
wealth  of  language,  and  glow  of  color,  that  distinguishes  the 
writings  of  the  Shakespears  of  France.  Within  the  house 
Britta  was  singing  cheerily  at  her  work,  and  the  sound  of 
her  song  alone  disturbed  the  silence.  Two  or  three  pale- 
blue  butterflies  danced  drowsily  in  and  out  a  cluster  of 
honeysuckle  that  trailed  downwards,  nearly  touching 
Thelma's  shoulder,  and  a  diminutive  black  kitten,  with  a 
pink  ribbon  round  its  neck,  sat  gravely  on  the  garden  path, 
washing  its  face  with  its  tiny  velvety  paws,  in  that  deliber- 
ate and  precise  fashion,  common  to  the  spoiled  and  petted 
members  of  its  class.  Everything  was  still  and  peaceful  as 
became  a  Sunday  afternoon, — so  that  when  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  advancing  footstep  disturbed  the  intense  calm,  the 
girl  was  almost  nervously  startled,  and  rose  from  her  seat 
with  so  much  precipitation,  that  the  butterflies,  who  had 
possibly  been  considering  whether  her  hair  might  not  be 
some  new  sort  of  sunflower,  took  fright  and  flew  far  up- 
wards, and  the  demure  kitten  scared  out  of  its  absurd  self- 
consciousness,  scrambled  hastily  up  the  nearest  little  tree. 
The  intruder  on  the  quietude  of  Giildmar's  domain  was  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Dyceworthy, — and  as  Thelma,  standing  erect  in 
the  porch,  beheld  him  coming,  her  face  grew  stern  and  reso- 
lute, and  her  eyes  flashed  disdain  full}'. 

Ignoring  the  repellant,  almost  defiant  dignity  of  the  girl's 
attitude,  Mr.  Dyceworthy  advanced,  rather  out  of  breath 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  125 

and  somewhat  heated, — and  smiling  benevolently,  nodded 
his  head  by  way  of  greeting,  without  removing  his  hat. 

"  Ah,  Froken  Thelma !  "  he  observed  condescendingly. 
"  And  how  are  you  to-day  ?  You  look  remarkably  well — 
remarkably  so,  indeed !  "  And  he  eyed  her  with  mild  ap- 
proval. 

"  I  am  well,  I  thank  you,"  she  returned  quietly.  "  My 
father  is  not  in,  Mr.  Dyceworthy." 

The  Reverend  Charles  wiped  his  hot  face,  and  his  smile 
grew  wider. 

"  What  matter  ?  "  he  inquired  blandly.  "  We  shall,  no 
doubt,  entertain  ourselves  excellently  without  him  I  It  is 
with  you  alone,  Froken,*  that  I  am  desirous  to  hold  con- 
verse." 

And,  without  waiting  for  her  permission,  he  entered  the 
porch,  and  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the  bench  oppo- 
site to  her,  heaving  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  did  so.  Thelma 
remained  standing — and  the  Lutheran  minister's  covetous 
eye  glanced  greedily  over  the  sweeping  curves  of  her 
queenly  figure,  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her  slim  arched 
throat,  and  the  glitter  of  her  rich  hair.  She  was  silent — 
and  there  was  something  in  her  manner  as  she  confronted 
him  that  made  it  difficult  for  Mr.  Dyceworthy  to  speak. 
He  hummed  and  hawed  several  times,  and  settled  his 
stiff  collar  once  or  twice  as  though  it  hurt  him  ;  finally  he 
said  with  an  evident  effort — 

"  I  have  found  a — a — trinket  of  3rours — a  trifling  toy — 
which,  perhaps,  yon  would  be  glad  to  have  again."  And 
he  drew  carefully  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket,  a  small  par- 
cel wrapped  up  in  tissue  paper,  which  he  undid  with  his 
fat  fingers,  thus  displaying  the  little  crucifix  he  had  kept 
so  long  in  his  possession.  "  Concerning  this,"  he  went  on, 
holding  it  up  before  her,  "  I  am  grievously  troubled, — and 
would  fain  say  a  few  necessaiy  words " 

She  interrupted  him,  reaching  out  her  hand  for  the  cross 
as  she  spoke. 

u  That  was  my  mother's  crucifix,"  she  said  in  solemn,  in- 
finitely tender  accents,  with  a  mist  as  of  unshed  tears  in 
her  sweet  blue  eyes.  "  It  was  round  her  neck  when  she  died. 
I  knew  I  had  lost  it,  and  was  very  unhappy  about  it.  I 
do  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  for  bringing  it  back  to  me !  " 

And  the  hauteur  of  her  face  relaxed,  and  her  smile — that 
sudden  sweet  smile  of  hers.— shone  forth  like  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  athwart  a  cloud. 


126  THELMA. 

Mr.  Dyeeworthy's  breath  came  and  went  with  curious 
rapidity.  His  visage  grew  pale,  and  a  clammy  dew  broke 
out  upon  his  forehead.  He  took  the  hand  she  held  out, — a 
fair,  soft  hand  with  a  pink  palm  like  an  upcuiied  shell, — 
c.nd  laid  the  little  cross  within  it,  and  still  retaining  his 
hold  of  her,  he  stammeringly  observed — 

"  Then  we  are  friends,  Frb'ken  Thelma!  ....  good 
friends,  I  hope  ?  " 

She  withdrew  her  fingers  quickly  from  his  hot,  moist 
clasp,  and  her  bright  smile  vanished. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  at  all !  "  she  replied  frigidly.  "  Friend- 
ship is  very  rare.  To  be  friends,  one  must  have  similar 
tastes  and  sympathies, — many  thmgs  which  we  have  not, — 
and  which  we  shall  never  have.  I  am  slow  to  call  any  per- 
son my  friend." 

Mr.  Dyceworthy's  small  pursy  mouth  drew  itself  into  a 
tight  thin  line. 

"  Except,"  he  said,  with  a  suave  sneer,  "  except  when 
'  any  person  '  happens  to  be  a  rich  Englishman  with  a  hand- 
some face  and  easy  manners  !  .  .  .  then  you  are  not 
slow  to  make  friends,  Frb'ken, — on  the  contrary,  you  are  re- 
markably quick  1 " 

The  cold  haughty  stare  with  which  the  girl  favored  him 
might  have  frozen  a  less  conceited  man  to  a  pillar  of  ice. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asks  abruptly,  and  with  an 
air  of  surprise. 

The  minister's  little  ferret-like  e}'es,  drooped  under  their 
puffy  lids,  and  he  fidgeted  on  the  seat  with  uncomfortable 
embarrassment.  He  answered  her  in  the  mildest  of  mild 
voices. 

"  You  are  unlike  j^ourself,  my  dear  Froken  !  "  he  said, 
with  a  soothing  gesture  of  one  of  his  well-trimmed  white 
hands.  "  You  are  generally  frank  and  open,  but  to-day  I 
find  you  just  a  little, — well ! — what  shall  I  say — secretive  ? 
Yes,  we  will  call  it  secretive  !  Oh,  fie !  "  and  Mr.  I>yce- 
worthy  laughed  a  gentle  little  laugh ;  "  you  must  not  pre- 
tend ignorance  of  what  I  mean  !  All  the  neighborhood  is 
talking  of  you  and  the  gentleman  you  are  so  often  seen 
with.  Notably  concerning  Sir  Philip  Errington, — the  vile 
tongue  of  rumor  is  bus}7, — for,  according  to  his  first  plans 
when  his  yacht  arrived  here,  he  was  bound  for  the  North 
Cape, — and  should  have  gone  there  days  ago.  Truly,  I 
think, — and  there  are  others  who  think  also  in  the  same 
spirit  of  interest  for  you, — that  the  sooner  this  young  man 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  12? 

leaves  our  peaceful  Fjord  the  better, — and  the  less  he  has 
to  do  with  the  maidens  of  the  district,  the  safer  we  shall  be 
from  the  risk  of  scandal."  And  he  heaved  a  pious  sigh. 

Thelnia  turned  her  e3res  upon  him  in  wonderment. 

u  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said  coldly.  "  Why  do 
you  speak  of  others  ?  No  others  are  interested  in  what  I 
do  ?  Why  should  they  be  ?  Why  should  you  be  ?  There 
is  no  need !  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  grew  slightly  excited.  He  felt  like  a 
runner  nearing  the  winning-post. 

"  Oh, }'  ou  wrong  yourself,  my  dear  Froken,"  he  murmured 
softly,  with  a  sickly  attempt  at  tenderness  in  his  tone. 
"  You  really  wrong  yourself!  It  is  impossible, — for  me  at 
least,  not  to  be  interested  in  you, — even  for  our  dear  Lord's 
sake.  It  troubles  me  to  the  inmost  depths  of  my  soul  to 
behold  in  3^011  one  of  the  foolish  virgins  whose  light  hath 
been  extinguished  for  lack  of  the  saving  oil, — to  see  you 
wandering  as  a  lost  sheep  in  the  paths  of  darkness  and 
error,  without  a  hand  to  rescue  your  steps  from  the  near 
and  dreadful  precipice !  Ay,  truly !  .  .  .  my  spirit 
yearneth  for  you  as  a  mother  for  an  own  babe — fain  would 
I  save  3rou  from  the  devices  of  the  evil  one, — fain  would 

I "  here  the  minister  drew  out  his  handkerchief  and 

pressed  it  lightly  to  his  eyes, — then,  as  if  with  an  effort 
overcoming  his  emotion,  he  added,  with  the  gravity  of  a 
butcher  presenting  an  extortionate  bill,  "  but  first, — before 
iny  own  humble  desires  for  3rour  salvation — first,  ere  I  go 
further  in  converse,  it  behoveth  me  to  enter  on  the  Lord's 
business ! " 

Thelma  bent  her  head  slightly,  with  an  air  as  though  she 
said  :  "  Indeed ;  pra3^  do  not  be  long  about  it ! "  And, 
leaning  back  against  the  porch,  she  waited  somewhat  impa- 
tiently. 

"  The  image  I  have  just  restored  to  you,"  went  on  Mr. 
Dycewortlty  in  his  most  pompous  and  ponderous  manner, 
"  3'ou  say  belonged  to  your  unhappy 

"  She  was  not  unhappy,"  interposed  the  girl,  calmly. 

"  A3r,  ay  !  "  and  the  minister  nodded  with  a  superior  air 
of  wisdom.  "  So  you  imagine,  so  3Tou  think, — 3rou  must 
have  been  too  young  to  judge  of  these  things.  She 
died " 

"  I  saw  her  die,"  again  she  interrupted,  with  a  musing 
tenderness  in  her  voice.  "  She  smiled  and  kissed  me, — then 
ehe  laid  her  thiii  white  hand  ou  this  crucifix,  and,  closing 


128  THELMA. 

her  eyes,  she  went  to  sleep.  They  told  me  it  was  death ; 
since  then  I  have  known  that  death  is  beautiful !  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  coughed, — a  little  cough  of  quiet  in- 
credulity. He  was  not  fond  of  sentiment  in  any  form,  and 
the  girl's  dreamily  pensive  manner  annoyed  him.  Death 
"  beautiful  ?  "  Faugh  !  it  was  the  one  thing  of  all  others 
that  he  dreaded  ;  it  was  an  unpleasant  necessity,  concerning 
which  he  thought  as  little  as  possible.  Though  he  preached 
frequently  on  the  peace  of  the  grave  and  the  jo3's  of  heaven, 
— he  was  far  from  believing  in  either, — he  was  nervously 
terrified  of  illness,  and  fled  like  a  frightened  hare  from  the 
very  rumor  of  any  infectious  disorder,  and  he  had  never 
been  known  to  attend  a  death-bed.  And  now,  in  answer  to 
Thelraa,  he  nodded  piously  and  rubbed  his  hands,  and 
said — 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  no  doubt,  no  doubt !  All  very  proper  on  3<our 
part,  I  am  sure !  But  concerning  this  same  image  of  which 
I  came  to  speak, — it  is  most  imperative  that  you  should  be 
brought  to  recognize  it  as  a  purely  carnal  object,  unfitting  a 
maiden's  eyes  to  rest  upon.  The  true  followers  of  the  Gos- 
pel  are  those  who  strive  to  forget  the  sufferings  of  our  dear 
Lord  as  much  as  possible, — or  to  think  of  them  only  in 
spirit.  The  minds  of  sinners,  alas!  are  easily  influenced, — 
and  it  is  both  unseemly  and  dangerous  to  gaze  freely  upon 
the  carven  semblance  of  the  Lord's  limbs  !  Yea,  truly,  it 
hath  oft  been  considered  as  damnatory  to  the  soul, — more 
especially  in  the  cases  of  women  immured  as  nuns,  who  en- 
courage themselves  in  an  undue  familiarity  with  our  Lord, 
by  gazing  long  and  earnestly  upon  his  body  nailed  to  the 
accursed  tree." 

Here  Mr.  Dyceworthy  paused  for  breath.  Thelma  was 
silent,  but  a  faint  smile  gleamed  on  her  face. 

"  Wherefore,"  he  went  on,  "  I  do  adjure  }TOU,  as  you  de- 
sire grace  and  redemption,  to  utterly  cast  from  you  the  vile 
trinket,  I  have, — Heaven  knows  how  reluctantly  !  .  .  . 
returned  to  your  keeping, — to  trample  upon  it,  and  renounce 
it  as  a  device  of  Satan  .  .  .  He  stopped,  surprised 

and  indignant,  as  she  raised  the  much-abused  emblem  to 
her  lips  and  kissed  it  reverently. 

"  It  is  the  sign  of  peace  and  salvation,"  she  said  steadily; 
"  to  me,  at  least.  You  waste  your  words,  Mr.  Dyceworthy; 
I  am  a  Catholic." 

"  Oh,  say  not  so !  "  exclaimed  the  minister,  now  thor- 
oughly roused  to  a  pitch  of  unctuous  enthusiasm.  "  Say 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  129 

not  so.  Poor  child !  who  knowest  not  the  meaning  of  the 
word  used.  Catholic  signifies  universal.  God  forbid  a  uni- 
versal Papacy  !  You  are  not  a  Catholic — no  !  You  are  a 
Roman — by  which  name  we  understand  all  that  is  most 
loathsome  and  unpleasing  unto  God  !  But  I  will  wrestle 
for  your  soul, — yea,  night  and  day  will  I  bend  my  spiritual 
sinews  to  the  task, — I  will  obtain  the  victory, — I  will  exor- 
cise the  fiend  !  Alas,  alas  !  you  are  on  the  brink  of  hell — 
tliink  of  it !  "  and  Mr.  Dyceworthy  stretched  out  his  hand 
with  his  favorite  pulpit  gesture.  "  Think  of  the  roasting 
and  burning, — the  scorching  and  withering  of  souls  !  Im- 
agine, if  you  can,  the  hopeless,  bitter,  eternal  damnation," 
and  here  he  smacked  his  lips  as  though  he  were  tasting 
something  excellent, — u  from  which  there  is  no  escape  1 
.  .  .  for  which  there  shall  be  no  remedy  !  " 

"  It  is  a  gloomy  picture,"  said  Thelma,  with  a  quiet 
sparkle  in  her  eye.  "  I  am  sorry, — for  you.  But  I  am 
happier, — my  faith  teaches  of  purgatory — there  is  always  a 
little  hope !  " 

"  There  is  none !  there  is  none  !  "  exclaimed  the  minister, 
rising  in  excitement  from  his  seat,  and  swaying  ponderously 
to  and  fro  as  he  gesticulated  with  hands  and  head.  "  You 
are  doomed, — doomed  !  There  is  no  middle  course  between 
hell  and  heaven.  It  must  be  one  thing  or  the  other  ;  God 
deals  not  in  half- measu res !  Pause,  oh  pause,  ere  you  de- 
cide to  fall !  Even  at  the  latest  hour  the  Lord  desires  to 
save  your  soul, — the  Lord  yearns  for  your  redemption,  and 
maketh  me  to  yearn  also.  Froken  Thelma  !  "  and  Mr.  Dyce- 
worthy's  voice  deepened  in  solemnity,  u  there  is  a  way  which 
the  Lord  hath  whispered  in  mine  ears, — a  way  that  pomteth 
to  the  white  robe  and  the  crown  of  glory, — a  way  by  which 
you  shall  possess  the  inner  peace  of  the  heart  with  bliss  on 
earth  as  the  forerunner  of  bliss  in  heaven  !  " 

She  looked  at  him  steadfastly.  "  And  that  way  is — 
what?"  she  inquired. 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  hesitated,  and  wished  with  all  his  heart 
that  this  girl  was  not  so  thoroughly  self-possessed.  Any 
sign  of  timidity  in  her  would  have  given  him  an  increase  of 
hardihood.  But  her  eyes  were  coldly  brilliant,  and  glanced 
him  over  without  the  smallest  embarrassment.  He  took 
refuge  in  his  never-failing  remedy,  his  benevolent  smile — a 
smile  that  covered  a  multitude  of  hypocrisies. 

"  You  ask  a  plain  question,  Frb'ken,"  he  said  sweetly, 
"  and  I  should  be  loth  not  to  give  you  a  plain  answer.  Thai 
P 


130  THELMA. 

way — that  glorious  way  of  salvation  for  you  is — through 
me  /  " 

And  his  countenance  shone  with  smug  self-satisfaction  as 
he  spoke,  and  he  repeated  softly,  "  Yes,  yes ;  that  way  is 
through  me !  " 

She  moved  with  a  slight  gesture  of  impatience.  "  It  is  a 
pity  to  talk  any  more,"  she  said  rather  wearily.  "  It  is  all 
no  use !  Why  do  you  wish  to  change  me  in  my  religion  ? 
I  do  not  wish  to  change  you.  I  do  not  see  why  we  should 
speak  of  such  things  at  all." 

"  Of  course !  "  replied  Mr.  Dyceworthy  blandly.  "  Of 
course  you  do  not  see.  And  wh}^  ?  Because  you  are  blind." 
Here  he  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and  looked  covetously 
at  the  curve  of  her  full,  firm  waist. 

"  Oh,  why  1 "  he  resumed  in  a  sort  of  rapture — •"  why 
should  we  say  it  is  a  pity  to  talk  any  more  ?  Why  should 
we  say  it  is  all  no  use  ?  It  is  of  use, — it  is  noble,  it  is  edi- 
fying to  converse  of  the  Lord's  good  pleasure  !  And  what 
is  His  good  pleasure  at  this  moment  ?  To  unite  two  souls 
in  His  service !  Yea,  He  hath  turned  my  desire  towards 
you,  Froken  Thelma, — even  as  Jacob's  desire  was  towards 
Rachel !  Let  me  see  this  hand."  He  made  a  furtive  grab 
at  the  white  taper  fingers  that  played  listlessly  with  the 
jessamine  leaves  on  the  porch,  but  the  girl  dexterously 
withdrew  them  from  his  clutch  and  moved  a  little  further 
back,  her  face  flushing  proudly.  "  Oh,  will  it  not  come  to 
me  ?  Cruel  hand !  "  and  he  rolled  his  little  eyes  with  an 
absurdly  sentimental  air  of  reproach.  "  It  is  shy — it  will 
not  clasp  the  hand  of  its  protector !  Do  not  be  afraid, 
Froken!  .  .  .  I,  Charles  Dyceworthy,  am  not  the  man 
to  trifle  with  your  young  affections  !  Let  them  rest  where 
they  have  flown  !  I  accept  them  !  Yea  !  ...  in  spite 
of  wrath  and  error  and  moral  destitution, — my  spirit  inclin- 
eth  towards  you, — in  the  language  of  carnal  men,  I  love 
you !  More  than  this,  I  am  willing  to  take  you  as  my  law- 
ful wife " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  somewhat  startled  at  the  bitter 
scorn  of  the  flashing  eyes  that,  like  two  quivering  stars, 
were  blazing  upon  him.  Her  voice,  clear  as  a  bell  ringing 
in  frosty  air,  cut  through  the  silence  like  a  sweep  of  a 
sword-blade. 

"  How  dare  you  !  "  she  said,  with  a  wrathful  thrill  in  her 
low,  intense  tones,  "  How  dare  you  come  here  to  insult 

me!" 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  131 

Insult  her !  He, — the  Reverend  Charles  Dyceworthy, — 
considered  guilty  of  insult  in  offering  honorable  marriage 
to  a  mere  farmer's  daughter  I  He  could  not  believe  his  own 
ears, — and  in  his  astonishment  he  looked  up  at  her.  Look- 
ing, he  recoiled  and  shrank  into  himself,  like  a  convicted 
knave  before  some  queenly  accuser.  The  whole  form  of  the 
girl  seemed  to  dilate  with  indignation.  From  her  proud 
mouth,  arched  like  a  bow,  sprang  barbed  arrows  of  scorn 
that  flew  straightly  and  struck  home. 

"  Always  I  have  guessed  what  3^011  wanted,"  she  went  on 
in  that  deep,  vibrating  tone  which  had  such  a  rich  quiver 

of  anger  within  it ;  "  but  I  never  thought  you  would " 

She  paused,  and  a  little  disdainful  laugh  broke  from  her 
lips.  "  You  would  make  me  your  wife — me  ?  You  think 
me  likely  to  accept  such  an  offer  ?  "  And  she  drew  herself 
up  with  a  superb  gesture,  and  regarded  him  fixedly. 

u  Oh,  pride,  pride !  "  murmured  the  unabashed  Dyce- 
worthy, recovering  from  the  momentary  abasement  into 
which  he  had  been  thrown  by  her  look  and  manner.  "  How 
it  overcometh  our  natures  and  mastereth  our  spirits !  My 
dear,  my  dearest  Froken, — I  fear  you  do  not  understand 
me  !  Yet  it  is  natural  that  you  should  not ;  you  were  not 
prepared  for  the  offer  of  my — my  affections," — and  he 
beamed  all  over  with  benevolence, — "  and  I  can  appreciate 
a  maidenly  and  becoming  coyness,  even  though  it  assume 
the  form  of  a  repellant  and  unreasonable  anger.  But  take 
courage,  my — my  dear  girl ! — our  Lord  forbid  that  I  should 
wantonly  play  with  the  delicate  emotions  of  3Tour  heart ! 
Poor  little  heart!  does  it  flutter?"  and  Mr.  Dyceworthy 
leered  sweetly.  "  I  will  give  it  time  to  recover  itself! 
Yes,  yes  !  a  little  time !  and  then  you  will  put  that  pretty 
hand  in  mine  " — here  he  drew  nearer  to  her, "'  and  with  one 
kiss  we  will  seal  the  compact !  " 

And  he  attempted  to  steal  his  arm  round  her  waist,  but 
the  girl  sprang  back  indignantly,  and  pulling  down  a  thick 
branch  of  the  clambering  prickly  roses  from  the  porch,  held 
it  in  front  of  her  by  way  of  protection.  Mr.  Dyceworthy 
laughed  indulgently. 

"  Very  pretty — very  pretty  indeed !  "  he  mildty  observed, 
eyeing  her  as  she  stood  at  bay  barricaded  by  the  roses. 
u  Quite  a  picture  !  There,  there !  do  not  be  frightened, — 
such  shyness  is  very  natural !  We  will  embrace  in  the 
Lord  another  day  !  In  the  meantime  one  little  word — the 
word — wiU  suffice  me, — yea,  even  one  little  smile, — tQ 


132  THELMA. 

me  that  you  understand  my  words, — that  you  love  me  "— 
here  he  clasped  his  plump  hands  together  in  flabby  ecstasy 
— "  even  as  you  are  loved  !  " 

His  absurd  attitude, — the  weak,  knock-kneed  manner  in 
which  his  clumsy  legs  seemed,  from  the  force  of  sheer  sen- 
timent, to  bend  under  his  weighty  body,  and  the  inanely 
amatory  expression  of  his  putty  countenance,  would  have 
excited  most  women  to  laughter, — and  Thelma  was  per- 
fectly conscious  of  his  utterly  ridiculous  appearance,  but 
she  was  too  thoroughly  indignant  to  take  the  matter  in  a 
hurmorous  light. 

"  Love  you  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  movement  of  irre- 
pressible loathing.  "  You  must  be  mad  !  I  would  rather 
die  than  marry  you  I  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy's  face  grew  livid  and  his  little  eyes 
sparkled  vindictively, — but  he  restrained  his  inward  rage, 
and  merely  smiled,  rubbing  his  hands  softly  one  against 
the  other. 

"  Let  us  be  calm  !  "  he  said  soothingly.  "  Whatever  we 
do,  let  us  be  calm !  Let  us  not  provoke  one  another  to 
wrath !  Above  all  things,  let  us,  in  a  spirit  of  charity  and 
patience,  reason  out  this  matter  without  undue  excite- 
ment. My  ears  have  most  painfully  heard  your  last  words, 
which,  taken  literally,  might  mean  that  you  reject  my  hon- 
orable offer.  The  question  is,  do  they  mean  this  ?  I  can- 
not,— I  will  not  believe  that  you  would  foolishly  stand  in 
the  way  of  your  own  salvation," — and  he  shook  his  head 
with  doleful  gentleness.  "  Moreover,  Froken  Thelma, 
though  it  sorely  distresses  me  to  speak  of  it, — it  is  my 
duty,  as  a  minister  of  the  Lord,  to  remiud  you  that  an 
honest  marriage, — a  marriage  of  virtue  and  respectability 
such  as  I  propose,  is  the  only  way  to  restore  your  reputa- 
tion,— which,  alas  !  is  sorely  damaged,  and " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  stopped  abruptly,  a  little  alarmed,  as 
she  suddenly  cast  aside  the  barrier  of  roses  and  advanced 
toward  him,  her  blue  eyes  blazing. 

"  My  reputation ! "  she  said  haughtily.  "  Who  speaks  of 
it?" 

"  Oh  dear,  dear  me  !  "  moaned  the  minister  pathetically. 
"  Sad !  .  .  .  very  sad  to  see  so  ungovernable  a  temper,  so 
wild  and  untrained  a  disposition !  Alas,  alas  !  how  frail  we 
are  without  the  Lord's  support, — without  the  strong  staff 
of  the  Lord's  mercy  to  lean  upon  !  Not  I,  my  poor  child, 
not  I,  but  the  whole  village  speaks  of  you  ;  to  you  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  133 

ignorant  people  attribute  all  the  sundry  evils  that  of  late 
have  fallen  sorely  upon  them, — bad  harvests,  ill-luck  with 
the  fishing,  poverty,  sickness," — here  Mr.  Pyceworthy 
pressed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  delicately  together,  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  benevolent  compassion, — "  and  they 
call  it  witchcraft, — yes  !  strange,  very  strange  !  But  so  it 
is, — ignorant  as  they  are,  such  ignorance  is  not  easily  en- 
lightened,— and  though  I,"  he  sighed,  "have  done  my  poor 
best  to  disabuse  their  minds  of  the  suspicions  against  3rou, 
I  find  it  is  a  matter  in  which  I,  though  a  humble  mouth- 
piece of  the  Gospel,  am  powerless — quite  powerless  1 " 

She  relaxed  her  defiant  attitude,  and  moved  away  from 
him  ;  the  shadow  of  a  smile  was  on  her  lips. 

"  It  is  not  my  fault  if  the  people  are  foolish,"  she  said 
coldly  ;  "  I  have  never  done  harm  to  any  one  that  I  know 
of."  And  turning  abruptly,  she  seemed  about  to  enter  the 
house,  but  the  minister  dexterously  placed  himself  in  her 
way,  and  barred  her  passage. 

"  Stay,  oh,  stay  1 "  he  exclaimed  with  unctuous  fervor. 
"  Pause,  unfortunate  girl,  ere  you  reject  the  strong  shield 
and  buckler  that  the  Lord  has,  in  His  great  merc3T,  offered 
you,  in  my  person  1  For  I  must  warn  you, — Froken 
Thelma,  I  must  warn  you  seriously  of  the  danger  you  runl 
I  will  not  pain  you  by  referring  to  the  grave  charges 
brought  against  your  father,  who  is,  alas  1  in  spite  of  my 
spiritual  wrestling  with  the  Lord  for  his  sake,  still  no  bet- 
ter than  a  heathen  savage  ;  no  !  I  will  say  nothing  of  this. 
But  what, — what  shall  I  say," — here  he  lowered  his  voice 
to  a  tone  of  mysterious  and  weighty  reproach, — "  what  shall 
I  say  of  your  most  unseemly  and  indiscreet  companionship 
with  these  worldly  young  men  who  are  visiting  the  Fjord 
for  their  idle  pastime  ?  Ah  dear,  dear !  This  is  indeed  a 
heavy  scandal  and  a  sore  burden  to  my  soul, — for  up  to 
this  time  I  have,  in  spite  of  many  faults  in  your  disposition, 
considered  you  were  at  least  of  a  most  maidenly  and  de- 
corous deportment, — but  now — now !  to  think  that  you 
should,  of  your  own  free  will  and  choice,  consent  to  be  the 
plaything  of  this  idle  stroller  from  the  wicked  haunts  of 
fashion, — the  hour's  toy  of  this  S:r  Philip  Erringtonl 
Froken  Thelma,  I  would  never  have  believed  it  of  you  !  " 
And  he  drew  himself  up  with  ponderous  and  sorrowful  dig- 
nity. 

A  burning  blush  had  covered  Thelma's  face  at  the  men- 
tion of  Errington's  name,  but  it  soon  faded,  leaving  her 


134  THELMA. 

very  pale.  She  changed  her  position  so  that  she  confronted 
Mr.  Dyceworthy, — her  clear  blue  eyes  regarded  him  stead- 
fastly. 

"  Is  this  what  is  said  of  me?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  It  is, — it  is,  most  unfortunately  !  "  returned  the  minis- 
tor,  shaking  his  bullet-like  head  a  great  many  times ;  then, 
with  a  sort  of  elephantine  cheerfulness,  he  added,  "  but  what 
matter  ?  There  is  time  to  remedy  these  things.  I  am  wil- 
ling to  set  myself  as  a  strong  barrier  against  the  evil  noises 
of  rumor  !  Am  I  selfish  or  ungenerous  ?  The  Lord  forbid 
it !  No  matter  how  /  am  compromised,  no  matter  how  /  am 
misjudged, — I  am  still  willing  to  take  you  as  my  lawful 
wife  Frb'ken  Thelma, — but," and  here  he  shook  his  forefinger 
at  her  with  a  pretended  playfulness,  "  I  will  permit  no  more 
converse  with  Sir  Philip  Errington  ;  no,  no !  I  cannot  al- 
low it !  .  .  .  I  cannot,  indeed  1  " 

She  still  looked  straight  at  him, — her  bosom  rose  and  fell 
rapidly  with  her  passionate  breath,  and  there  was  such  an 
eloquent  breath  of  sc'orn  in  her  face  that  he  winced  under 
it  as  though  struck  by  a  sharp  scourge. 

"  You  are  not  worth  my  anger  I  "  she  said  slowl}-,  this 
time  without  a  tremor  in  her  rich  voice.  "  One  must  have 
something  to  be  angry  with,  and  you — you  are  nothing  ! 
Neither  man  nor  beast, — for  men  are  brave,  and  beasts  tell 
no  lies  !  Your  wife !  I !  "  and  she  laughed  aloud, — then 
with  a  gesture  of  command,  "  Go !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  and 
never  let  me  see  your  face  again  1  " 

The  clear  scornful  laughter, — the  air  of  absolute  authority 
with  which  she  spoke, — would  have  stung  the  most  self- 
opinionated  of  men,  even  though  his  conscience  were  en- 
veloped in  a  moral  leather  casing  of  hypocrisy  and  arro- 
gance. And,  notwithstanding  his  invariable  air  of  mildness, 
Mr.  Dyceworthy  had  a  temper.  That  temper  rose  to  a 
white  heat  just  now, — every  drop  of  blood  receded  from  his 
countenance, — and  his  soft  hands  clenched  themselves  in  a 
particularly  ugly  and  threatening  manner.  Yet  he  managed 
to  preserve  his  suave  composure. 

"  Alas,  alas  I  "  he  murmured.  "  How  sorely  my  soul  is 
afflicted  to  see  you  thus,  Frb'ken !  I  am  amazed — I  am  dis- 
tressed !  Such  language  from  your  lips!  oh  fie,  fie  !  And 
has  it  come  to  this !  And  must  I  resign  the  hope  I  had  of 
saving  your  poor  soul  ?  and  must  I  withdraw  my  spiritual 
protection  from  you  ?  "  This  he  asked  with  a  suggestive 
sneer  of  his  prim  mouth, — and  then  continued,  "  I  must — • 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  135 

alas,  I  must !  My  conscience  will  not  permit  me  to  do  more 
than  pray  for  you !  And  as  is  my  duty,  I  shall,  in  a  spirit 
of  forbearance  and  charity,  speak  warningly  to  Sir  Philip 
concerning " 

But  Thelma  did  not  permit  him  to  finish  his  sentence. 
She  sprang  forward  like  a  young  leopardess,  and  with  a 
magnificent  outward  sweep  of  her  arm  motioned  him  down 
the  garden  path. 

"  Out  of  my  sight, — coward  !  "  she  cried,  and  then  stood 
waiting  for  him  to  obey  her,  her  whole  frame  vibrating  with 
indignation  like  a  harp  struck  too  roughly.  She  looked  so 
terribly  beautiful,  and  there  was  such  a  suggestive  power  in 
that  extended  bare  white  arm  of  hers,  that  the  minister, 
though  quaking  from  head  to  heel  with  disappointment  and 
resentment,  judged  it  prudent  to  leave  her. 

"  Certainly,  I  will  take  my  departure,  Froken !  "  he  said 
meekly,  while  his  teeth  glimmered  wolfishly  through  his 
pale  lips,  in  a  snarl  more  than  a  smile.  "  It  is  best  you 
should  be  alone  to  recover  yourself — from  this — this  undue 
excitement !  I  shall  not  repeat  my — my — offer ;  but  I  am 
sure  your  good  sense  will — in  time — show  you  how  very 
unjust  and  hasty  you  have  been  in  this  matter — and — and 
you  will  be  sorry  !  Yes,  indeed  I  I  am  quite  sure  you  will 
be  sorry  !  I  wish  you  good  day,  Fro'ken  Thelma !  " 

She  made  him  no  reply,  and  he  turned  from  the  house  and 
left  her,  strolling  down  the  flower-bordered  path  as  though 
he  were  in  the  best  of  all  possible  moods  with  himself  and 
the  universe.  But,  in  truth,  he  muttered  a  heavy  oath 
under  his  breath — an  oath  that  was  by  no  means  in  keeping 
with  his  godly  and  peaceful  disposition.  Once,  as  he  walked, 
he  looked  back, — and  saw  the  woman  he  coveted  now  more 
than  ever,  standing  erect  in  the  porch,  tall,  fair  and  loyal  in 
her  attitude,  looking  like  some  proud  empress  who  had  just 
dismissed  an  unworthy  vassal.  A  farmer's  daughter  !  and 
she  had  refused  Mr.  Dyceworthy  with  disdain !  He  had 
much  ado  to  prevent  himself  shaking  his  fist  at  her ! 

"  The  lofty  shall  be  laid  low,  and  the  stiff-necked  shall  be 
humbled,"  he  thought,  as  with  a  vicious  switch  of  his  stick 
he  struck  off  a  fragrant  head  of  purple  clover.  "  Conceited 
fool  of  a  girl !  Hopes  to  be  '  my  lady  '  does  she  ?  She  had 
better  take  care  1  " 

Here  he  stopped  abruptly  in  his  walk  as  if  a  thought  had 
struck  him, — a  malignant  joy  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  and  he 
flourished  his  stick  triumphantly  in  the  air.  "  I'll  have 


136  THELMA. 

her  yet  1  "  he  exclaimed  half-aloud.  "  I'll  set  Lovisa  on 
her ! "  And  his  countenance  cleaved ;  he  quickened  his 
pace  like  a  man  having  some  pressing  business  to  fulfill, 
and  was  soon  in  his  boat,  rowing  towards  Bosekop  with 
unaccustomed  speed  and  energy. 

Meanwhile  Thelma  stood  motionless  where  he  had  left 
her, — she  watched  the  retreating  form  of  her  portly  suitor 
till  he  had  altogether  disappeared, — then  she  pressed  one 
hand  on  her  bosom,  sighed,  and  laughed  a  little.  Glancing 
at  the  crucifix  so  lately  restored  to  her,  she  touched  it  with 
her  lips  and  fastened  it  to  a  small  silver  chain  she  wore,  and 
then  a  shadow  swept  over  her  fair  face  that  made  it  strangely 
sad  and  weary.  Her  lips  quivered  pathetically  ;  she  shaded 
her  eyes  with  her  curved  fingers  as  though  the  sunlight 
hurt  her, — then  with  faltering  steps  she  turned  away  from 
the  warm  stretch  of  garden,  brilliant  with  blossom,  and  en- 
tered the  house.  There  was  a  sense  of  outrage  and  insult 
upon  her,  and  though  in  her  soul  she  treated  Mr.  Dyce- 
worthy's  observations  with  the  contempt  they  deserved,  his 
coarse  allusion  to  Sir  Philip  Errington  had  wounded  her 
more  than  she  cared  to  admit  to  herself.  Once  in  the  quiet 
sitting-room,  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  her  father's 
arm-chair,  and  laying  her  proud  Mttle  golden  head  down  on 
her  folded  arms,  she  broke  into  a  passion  of  silent  tears. 

Who  shall  unravel  the  mystery  of  a  woman's  weeping  ? 
Who  shall  declare  whether  it  is  a  pain  or  a  relief  to  the 
overcharged  heart  ?  The  dignity  of  a  crowned  queen  is  ca- 
pable of  utterly  dissolving  and  disappearing  in  a  shower  of 
tears,  when  Love's  burning  finger  touches  the  pulse  and 
marks  its  slow  or  rapid  beatings.  And  Thelma  wept  as 
many  of  her  sex  weep,  without  knowing  why,  save  that  all 
suddenly  she  felt  herself  most  lonely  and  forlorn  like  Sainte 
Beuve's — 

"Colombo  gemissante, 
Qui  demande  par  pitie" 

Sa  moitie", 
Sa  moiti<}  loin  d'elle  absente!" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  A.  wicked  will, 
A  woman's  will ;  a  cankered  grandame's  will ! " 

King  John. 
"By  Jove!" 
And   Lorimer,  after   uttering   this  unmeaning  exclama- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  137 

tion,  was  silent  out  of  sheer  dismay.  He  stood  hesitating 
and  looking  in  at  the  door  of  the  Giildmar's  sitting-room, 
and  the  alarming  spectacle  he  saw  was  the  queenly  Thelma 
down  on  the  floor  in  an  attitude  of  grief, — Thelma  giving 
way  to  little  smothered  sobs  of  distress, — Thelma  actually 
crying  !  He  drew  a  long  breath  and  stared,  utterly  bewil- 
dered. It  was  a  sight  for  which  he  was  unprepared, — he 
was  not  accustomed  to  women's  tears.  What  should  he  do? 
Should  he  cough  gently  to  attract  her  attention,  or  should 
he  retire  on  tip-toe  and  leave  her  to  indulge  her  grief  as 
long  as  she  would,  without  making  any  attempt  to  console 
her  ?  The  latter  course  seemed  almost  brutal,  yet  he  was 
nearly  deciding  upon  it,  when  a  slight  creak  of  the  door 
against  which  he  leaned,  caused  her  to  look  up  suddenly. 
Seeing  him,  she  rose  quickly  from  her  desponding  position 
and  faced  him,  her  cheeks  somewhat  deeply  flushed  and  her 
eyes  glittering  feverishly. 

"  Mr.  Lorimer ! "  she  exclaimed,  forcing  a  faint  smile  to  her 
quivering  lips.  "  You  here?  Why,  where  are  the  others?" 

"  They  are  coming  on  after  me,"  replied  Lorimer,  ad- 
vancing into  the  room,  and  diplomatically  ignoring  the  girl's 
efforts  to  hide  the  tears  that  still  threatened  to  have  their 
way.  "  But  I  was  sent  in  advance  to  tell  3Tou  not  to  be 
frightened.  There  has  been  a  slight  accident — 

She  grew  very  pale.  "  Is  it  my  father? "  she  asked  trem-. 
blingly.  "  Sir  Philip 

"  No,  no  I  "  answered  Lorimer  reassuringly.  "  It  is 
nothing  serious,  really,  upon  my  honor !  Your  father's  all 
right, — so  is  Phil, — our  lively  friend  Pierre  is  the  victim. 
The  fact  is,  we've  had  some  trouble  with  Sigurd.  I  can't 
think  what  has  come  to  the  boy !  He  was  as  amiable  as 
possible  when  we  started,  but  after  we  had  climbed  about 
half-way  up  the  mountain,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  throw 
stones  about  rather  recklessly.  It  was  only  fun,  he  said. 
Your  father  tried  to  make  him  leave  off,  but  he  was  obstin- 
\ate.  At  last,  in  a  particularly  bright  access  of  playful- 
ness, he  got  hold  of  a  large  flint,  and  nearl}-  put  Phil's  eye 
out  with  it, — Phil  dodged  it,  and  it  flew  straight  at  Du- 
prez,  splitting  open  his  cheek  in  rather  an  unbecoming 

fashion Don't  look  so  horrified,  Miss  Guldmar, — it  is 

really  nothing ! " 

"  Oh,  but  indeed  it  is  something !  "  she  said,  with  true 
womanly  anxiety  in  her  voice.  "  Poor  fellow !  I  am  so 
sorry  1  Is  he  much  hurt  ?  Does  he  suffer  ? '' 


138  THELMA. 

11  Pierre?  Oh,  no,  not  a  bit  of  it  I  He's  as  jolty  as  pos- 
sible !  We  bandaged  him  up  in  a  very  artistic  fashion ;  he 
looks  quite  interesting,  I  assure  you.  His  beauty's  spoilt 
for  a  time,  that's  all.  Phil  thought  you  might  be  alarmed 
when  you  saw  us  bringing  home  the  wounded, — that  is  why 
I  came  on  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  But  what  can  be  the  matter  with  Sigurd  ? "  asked  the 
girl,  raising  her  hand  furtively  to  dash  off  a  few  tear- 
drops that  still  hung  on  her  long  lashes.  "  And  where  is 
he?" 

"  Ah,  that  I  can't  tell  you !  "  answered  Lorimer.  "  He  is 
perfectly  incomprehensible  to-day.  As  soon  as  he  saw  the 
blood  flowing  from  Duprez's  cheek,  he  uttered  a  howl  as 
if  some  one  had  shot  him,  and  away  he  rushed  into  the 
woods  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  We  called  him,  and  shouted 
his  name  till  we  were  hoarse, — all  no  use !  He  wouldn't 
come  back.  I  suppose  he'll  find  his  way  home  by  him- 
self?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Thelma  gravely.  "  But  when  he  comes  I 
will  scold  him  very  much !  It  is  not  like  him  to  be  so  wild 
and  cruel.  He  will  understand  me  when  I  tell  him  how 
wrong  he  has  been." 

"  Oh,  don't  break  his  heart,  poor  little  chap  !  "  said  Lori- 
mer easily.  "  Your  father  has  given  him  a  terrible  scold- 
ing already.  He  hasn't  got  his  wits  about  him  you  know, 
— he  can't  help  being  queer  sometimes.  But  what  have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself  during  oar  absence  ?  "  And 
he  regarded  he  with  friendly  scrutiny.  "  You  were  crying 
when  I  came  in.  Now,  weren't  you  ? " 

She  met  his  gaze  quite  frankly.  "  Yes !  "  she  replied, 
with  a  plaintive  thrill  in  her  voice.  "  I  could  not  help 
it !  My  heart  ached  and  the  tears  came.  Somehow  I 
felt  that  everything  was  wrong, — and  that  it  was  all  my 
fault " 

"  Your  fault !  "  murmured  Lorimer,  astonished.  "  My 
dear  Miss  Guldmar,  what  do  you  mean  ?  What  is  your 
fault  ?  " 

"  Everything  !  "  she  answered  sadly,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  I  am  very  foolish  ;    and  I    am  sure  I  often  do   wrong 

without  meaning  it.     Mr.  Dyceworthy  has  been  here  and 

"  she  stopped  abruptly,  and  a  wave  of  color  flushed 

her  face. 

Lorimer  laughed  lightly.  "  Pyceworthy  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
u  The  mystery  is  explained !  You  have  been  bored  by  '  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  139 

good  religious,'  as  Pierre  calls  him.  You  know  what  boring 
means  now,  Miss  Giildmar,  don't  you?"  She  smiled 
slightly,  and  nodded.  "  The  first  time  you  visited  the 
Eulalie,  you  didn't  understand  the  word,  I  remember, — 
ah !  "  and  he  shook  his  head — u  if  you  were  in  London 
society,  you'd  find  that  expression  very  convenient, — it 
would  come  to  your  lips  pretty  frequently,  I  can  tell 
you  !  " 

"  I  shall  never  see  London,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  re- 
signed air.  "  You  will  all  go  away  very  soon,  and  I — I 
shall  be  lonely — 

She  bit  her  lips  in  quick  vexation,  as  her  blue  eyes  filled 
again  with  tears  in  spite  of  herself. 

Lorimer  turned  away  and  pulled  a  chair  to  the  open 
window. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here,"  he  said  invitingly.  "  We 
shall  be  able  to  see  the  others  coming  down  the  hill.  Noth- 
ing like  fresh  air  for  blowing  away  the  blues."  Then,  as 
she  obeyed  him,  he  added,  "  What  has  Dyceworthy  been 
saying  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  I  was  wicked,"  she  murmured  ;  "  and  That 
all  the  people  here  think  very  badly  of  me.  But  that  was 
not  the  worst  " — and  a  little  shudder  passed  over  her — 
"  there  was  something  else — something  that  made  me  very 
angry — so  angry ! " — and  here  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a. 
gravely  penitent  air — "  Mr.  Lorimer,  I  do  not  think  I  have 
ever  had  so  bad  and  fierce  a  temper  before  !  " 

"  Good  gracious ! ".  exclaimed  Lorimer,  with  a  broad 
smile.  "  You  alarm  me,  Miss  Giildmar  1  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  a  '  bad,  fierce '  person, — I  shall  get  afraid  of  you 
—I  shall,  really  !  " 

"  Ah,  you  laugh ! "  and  she  spoke  half-reproachfully. 
"  You  will  not  be  serious  for  one  little  moment  I  " 

"  Yes  I  will !  Now  look  at  me,"  and  he  assumed  a  solemn 
expression,  and  drew  himself  up  with  an  air  of  dignity. 
"I  am  all  attention!  Consider  me  your  father-confessor, 
Miss  Giildmar,  and  explain  the  reason  of  this  '  bad,  fierce ' 
temper  of  yours." 

She  peeped  at  him  shyly  from  under  her  silken  lashes. 

"  It  is  more  dreadful  than  you  think,"  she  answered  in  a 
low  tone.  "  Mr.  Dyceworthy  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

Lorimer's  keen  eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  This  was 
beyond  a  jest, — and  he  clenched  his  fist  as  he  exclaimed — 

"  Impudent   donkey  1     What  a  jolly  good  thrashing  he 


140  THELMA. 

deserves !  ...  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  got  it 
one  of  these  days !  And  so,  Miss  Guldmar," — and  he 
studied  her  face  with  some  solicitude — "  you  were  very 
angry  with  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  "  she  replied,  "  but  when  I  told  him  he  was  a 
coward,  and  that  he  must  go  away,  he  said  some  very  cruel 

things "   she  stopped,  and  blushed  deeply ;  then,  as  if 

seized  by  some  sudden  impulse,  she  laid  her  small  hand  on 
Lorimer's  and  said  in  the  tone  of  an  appealing  child,  "  you 
are  very  good  and  kind  to  me,  and  you  are  clever, — you 
know  so  much  more  than  I  do !  You  must  help  me, — you 
will  tell  me,  will  you  not  ?  .  .  .  if  it  is  wrong  of  me  to 
like  you  all, — it  is  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  a  long 
time  and  I  have  been  very  happy  with  you  and  your  friends. 
But  3^011  must  teach  me  to  behave  like  the  girls  you  have 
seen  in  London, — for  I  could  not  bear  that  Sir  Philip  should 
think  me  wicked  !  " 

"  Wicked ! "  and  Lorimer  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Good 
heavens  !  If  you  knew  what  Phil's  ideas  about  you  are, 

Miss  Guldmar " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know,"  interrupted  Thelma  steadily. 
*  You  must  quite  understand  me, — I  am  not  clever  to  hide 
(ny  thoughts,  and — and — ,  you  are  glad  when  you  talk 
lometimes  to  Sir  Philip,  are  you  not  ? "  He  nodded, 
.gravely  studying  every  light  and  shadow  on  the  fair,  up- 
turned, innocent  face. 

"  Yes  !"  she  continued  with  some  eagerness,  "  I  see  you 
are !  Well,  it  is  the  same  with  me, — I  do  love  to  hear  him 
speak  !  You  know  how  his  voice  is  like  music,  and  how  his 
kind  ways  warm  the  heart, — it  is  pleasant  to  be  in  his  com- 
pany— I  am  sure  you  also  find  it  so  I  But  for  me, — it 
seems  it  is  wrong, — it  is  not  wise  for  me  to  show  when  I  am 
happy.  I  do  not  care  what  other  people  say, — but  I  would 
not  have  him  think  ill  of  me  for  all  the  world  I " 

Lorimer  took  her  hand  and  held  it  in  his  with  a  most 
tender  loyalty  and  respect.  Her  naive,  simple  words  had, 
all  unconsciously  to  herself,  laid  bare  the  secret  of  her  soul 
to  his  eyes, — and  though  his  heart  beat  with  a  strange  sick- 
ening sense  of  unrest  that  flavored  of  despair,  a  gentle  rev- 
erence filled  him,  such  as  a  man  might  feel  if  some  little 
snow-white  shrine,  sacred  to  purity  and  peace,  should  be 
suddenly  unveiled  before  him. 

u  My  dear  Miss  Guldmar,'1  he  said  earnestly,  "  I  assure 
you,  you  have  no  cause  to  be  uneasy  1  You  must  not  be- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  l4l 

lieve  a  word  Dyceworthy  says — every  one  with  a  grain  of 
common  sense  can  see  what  a  liar  and  hypocrite  he  is !  And 
as  for  you,  you  never  do  anything  wrong, — don't  imagine 
such  nonsense  1  I  wish  there  were  more  women  like  you  1  " 

u  Ah,  that  is  very  kind  of  you  !  "  half  laughed  the  girl, 
still  allowing  her  hand  to  rest  in  his.  "  But  I  do  not  think 
even-body  would  have  such  a  good  opinion."  They  both 
started,  and  their  hands  fell  asunder  as  a  shadow  darkened 
the  room,  and  Sir  Philip  stood  before  them. 

"  Excuse  me !  "  he  said  stiffly,  lifting  his  hat  with  cere- 
monious politeness.  "  I  ought  to  have  knocked  at  the  door 
— I- 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Thelma,  raising  her  eyebrows  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes — why  indeed  ?  "  echoed  Lorimer,  with  a  frank  look 
at  his  friend. 

"  I  am  afraid," — and  for  once  the  generally  good-humored 
Errington  looked  positively  petulant — "  I  am  afraid  I  in- 
terrupted a  pleasant  conversation !  "  And  he  gave  a  little 
forced  laugh  of  feigned  amusement,  but  evident  vexation. 

"  And  if  it  was  pleasant,  shall  you  not  make  it  still  more 
so?''  asked  Thelma,  with  timid  and  bewitching  sweetness, 
though  her  heart  beat  very  fast, — she  was  anxious.  Why 
was  Sir  Philip  so  cold  and  distant  ?  He  looked  at  her,  and 
his  pent-up  passion  leaped  to  his  eyes  and  filled  them  with 
a  glowing  and  fiery  tenderness, — her  head  drooped  suddenly, 
and  she  turned  quickly,  to  avoid  that  searching,  longing 
gaze.  Lorimer  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  slight 
feeling  of  amusement. 

"  Well  Phil,"  he  inquired  lazily,  "  how  did  you  get  here 
so  soon  ?  You  must  have  glided  into  the  garden  like  a 
ghost,  for  I  never  heard  3-011  coming." 

"  So  I  imagine  1 "  retorted  Errington,  with  an  effort  to 
be  sarcastic,  in  which  he  utterly  failed  as  he  met  his  friend's 
eyes, — then  after  a  slight  and  somewhat  embarrassed  pause 
he  added  more  mildly  !  "  Duprez  cannot  get  on  very  fast, 
— his  wound  still  bleeds,  and  he  feels  rather  faint  now  and 
then.  I  don't  think  we  bandaged  him  up  properly,  and 
I  came  on  to  see  if  Britta  could  prepare  something  for 
him." 

"  But  you  will  not  need  to  ask  Britta,"  said  Thelma 
quietly,  with  a  pretty  air  of  authority,  "  for  I  shall  myself 
do  all  for  Mr.  Duprez.  I  understand  well  how  to  cure  his 
wound,  and  I  do  think  he  will  like  me  as  well  as  Britta." 


142  THELMA. 

And,  hearing  footsteps  approaching,  she  looked  out  at  the 
window.  "  Here  they  come  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Ah,  poor 
Monsieur  Pierre  !  he  does  look  very  pale  1  I  will  go  and 
meet  them." 

And  she  hurried  from  the  room,  leaving  the  two  young 
pen  together.  Errington  threw  himself  into  Olaf  Giild- 
mar's  great  arm-chair,  with  a  slight  sigh. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Lorimer  inquiringly. 

"  Well !  "  he  returned  somewhat  gruffly. 

Lorimer  laughed,  and  crossing  the  room,  approached  him 
find  clapped  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Look  here,  old  man  !  "  he  said  earnestly,  "  don't  be  a 
fool !  I  know  that  '  love  maketh  men  mad,'  but  I  never 
supposed  the  lunacy  would  lead  you  to  the  undesirable 
point  of  distrusting  your  friend, — your  true  friend,  Phil, — 
by  all  the  Gods  of  the  past  and  present  1  " 

And  he  laughed  again, — a  little  huskily  this  time,  for 
there  was  a  sudden  unaccountable  and  unwished-for  lump 
in  his  throat,  and  a  moisture  in  his  eyes  which  he  had  not 
bargained  for.  Philip  looked  up, — and  silently  held  out 
his  hand,  which  Lorimer  as  silently  clasped.  There  was  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and  then  the  young  baronet  spoke  out 
manfully. 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,  George !  I  really  am !  But  I 
tell  you,  when  I  came  in  and  saw  you  two  standing  there, 
r— you've  no  idea  what  a  picture  you  madel  ...  by 
Jove  1  ...  I  was  furious  1  "  And  he  smiled.  "  I 
suppose  I  was  jealous !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  were ! "  returned  Lorimer  amusedly. 
"  Novel  sensation,  isn't  it  ?  A  sort  of  hot,  prickly, '  have- 
at-thee-villain '  sort  of  thing;  must  be  frightfully  exhaust- 
ing !  But  why  you  should  indulge  this  emotion  at  my  ex- 
pense is  what  I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me,  understand  !  " 

"  Well,"  murmured  Errington,  rather  abashed,  "  you  see, 
her  hands  were  in  j^ours " 

"As  they  will  be  again,  and  yet  again,  I  trust ! r  said 
Lorimer  with  cheery  fervor.  "  Surely  you'll  allow  me  to 
shake  hands  with  your  wife  ?  " 

"  I  say,  George,  be  quiet !  "  exclaimed  Philip  warningly, 
as  at  that  moment  Thelma  passed  the  window  with  Pierre 
Dupr£z  leaning  on  her  arm,  and  her  father  and  Macfarlane 
following. 

She  entered  the  room  with  the  stately  step  of  a  young 
queen, — her  tall,  beautiful  Sgure  forming  a  strong  contrast 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  143 

to  that  of  the  narrow-shouldered  little  Frenchman,  upon 
whom  she  smiled  down  with  an  air  of  almost  maternal  pro- 
tection. 

"  You  will  sit  here,  Monsieur  Duprez,"  she  said,  leading 
him  to  the  bonders  arm-chair  which  Errington  instantly  va- 
cated, "  and  father  will  bring  you  a  good  glass  of  wine. 
And  the  pain  will  be  nothing  when  I  have  attended  to  that 
cruel  wound.  But  I  am  so  sorry, — so  very  sorry,  to  see 
you  suffer  1 " 

Pierre  did  indeed  present  rather  a  dismal  spectacle. 
There  was  a  severe  cut  on  his  forehead  as  well  as  his  cheek  ; 
his  face  was  pale  and  streaked  with  blood,  while  the  hastily- 
improvised  bandages  which  were  tied  under  his  chin,  by  no 
means  improved  his  personal  appearance.  His  head  ached 
with  the  pain,  and  his  eyes  smarted  with  the  strong  sun- 
light to  which  he  had  been  exposed  all  the  day,  but  his  nat- 
ural gaiety  was  undiminished,  and  he  laughed  as  he  an- 
swered— 

"  Chere  Mademoiselle,  you  are  too  good  to  me !  It  is  a 
piece  of  good  fortune  that  Sigurd  threw  that  stone — yes  1 
since  it  brings  me  your  pity !  But  do  not  trouble ;  a  little 
cold  water  and  a  fresh  handkerchief  is  all  I  need." 

But  Thelma  was  already  practicing  her  own  simple  sur- 
gery for  his  benefit.  With  deft,  soft  fingers  she  laid  bare 
the  throbbing  wound, — washed  and  dressed  it  carefully  and 
skillfull}-, — and  used  with  all  such  exceeding  gentleness, 
that  Duprez  closed  his  eyes  in  a  sort  of  rapture  during  the 
operation,  and  wished  it  could  last  longer.  Then  taking 
the  glass  of  wine  her  father  brought  in  obedience  to  her 
order,  she  said  in  a  tone  of  mild  authority — 

"  Now,  you  will  drink  this  Monsieur  Pierre,  and  you  will 
rest  quite  still  till  it  is  time  to  go  back  to  the  yacht ;  and  to- 
morrow you  will  not  feel  any  pain,  I  am  sure.  And  I  do 
think  it  will  not  be  an  ugly  scar  for  long." 

"  If  it  is,"  answered  Pierre,  "  I  shall  say  I  received  it  in 
a  duel !  Then  I  shall  be  great — glorious  1  and  all  the 
pretty  ladies  will  love  me  !  " 

She  laughed, — but  looked  grave  a  moment  afterwards. 

"  You  must  never  say  what  is  not  true,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  wrong  to  deceive  any  one, — even  in  a  small  matter." 

Duprez  gazed  up  at  her  wonderingly,  feeling  very  much 
like  a  chidden  child. 

"  Never  say  what  is  not  true !  "  he  thought.  "  Mon 
Dien  I  what  would  become  of  my  life  ?  " 


144  TSELMA. 

It  was  a  new  suggestion,  and  he  reflected  upon  it  with 
astonishment.  It  opened  such  a  wide  vista  of  impossibili- 
ties to  his  mind. 

Meanwhile  old  Guldmar  was  engaged  in  pouring  out 
wine  for  the  other  young  men,  talking  all  the  time. 

"  I  tell  thee,  Thelma  mine,"  he  said  seriously/'  something 
must  be  very  wrong  with  our  Sigurd.  The  poor  lad  has 
always  been  gentle  and  tractable,  but  to-day  he  was  like 
some  wild  animal  for  mischief  and  hardihood.  I  grieve  to 
see  it !  I  fear  the  time  may  come  when  he  may  no  longer 
be  a  safe  servant  for  thee,  child !  " 

"  Oh,  father  !  " — and  the  girl's  voice  was  full  of  tender 
anxiety — "  surely  not !  He  is  too  fond  of  us  to  do  us  any 
harm — he  is  so  docile  and  affectionate !  " 

*'  Maybe,  maybe ! "  and  the  old  farmer  shook  his  head 
doubtfully.  "  But  when  the  wits  are  away  the  brain  is  like 
a  ship  without  ballast — there  is  no  safe  sailing  possible. 
He  would  not  mean,  any  harm,  perhaps, — and  yet  in  his 
wild  moods  he  might  do  it,  and  be  sorry  for  it  directly 
afterwards.  'Tis  little  use  to  cry  when  the  mischief  is  done, 
— and  I  confess  I  do  not  like  his  present  humor." 

"  By-the-by,"  observed  Lorimer,  "  that  reminds  me ! 
Sigurd  has  taken  an  uncommonly  strong  aversion  to  Phil. 
It's  curious  but  it's  a  fact.  Perhaps  it  is  that  which  upsets 
Iris  nerves  ?  " 

"  I  have  noticed  it  myself,"  said  Errington,  "  and  I'm 
sorry  for  it,  for  I've  done  him  no  harm  that  I  can  remem- 
ber. He  certainly  asked  me  to  go  away  from  the  Alten- 
fjord,  and  I  refused, — I'd  no  idea  he  had  any  serious  mean- 
ing in  his  request.  But  it's  evident  he  can't  endure  my 
company." 

"  Ah,  then !  "  said  Thelma  simply  and  sorrowfully,  "  he 
must  be  very  ill, — because  it  is  natural  for  every  one  to 
like  you." 

She  spoke  in  perfect  good  faith  and  innocence  of  heart ; 
but  Errington's  eyes  flashed  and  he  smiled — one  of  those 
rare,  tender  smiles  of  his  which  brightened  his  whole  visage. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  say  so,  Miss  Guldmar !  " 

"  It  is  not  kindness ;  it  is  the  truth  !  "  she  i-eplied  frankly. 

At  that  moment  a  very  rosy  face  and  two  sparkling  eyes 
peered  in  at  the  door. 

"  Yes,  Britta  !  "  Thelma  smiled ;  "  we  are  quite  ready  !  " 

Whereupon  the  face  disappeared,  and  Olaf  Guldmar  led 
the  way  into  the  kitchen,  which  was  at  the  same  time  the 


LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  US 

dining-room,  and  where  a  substantial  supper  was  spread  on 
the  polished  pine  table. 

The  farmer's  great  arm-chair  was  brought  in  for  Duprez, 
who,  though  he  declared  he  was  being  sp'oilt  by  too  much 
attention,  seemed  to  enjoy  it  immensely, — and  they  were 
all,  including  Britta,  soon  clustered  round  the  hospitable 
board  whereon  antique  silver  and  quaint  glasses  of  foreign 
make  sparkled  bravely,  their  effect  enhanced  by  the  snowy 
whiteness  of  the  homespun  table-linen. 

A  few  minutes  set  them  all  talking  gaily.  Macfarlane 
vied  with  the  ever-gallant  Duprez  in  making  a  few  compli- 
ments to  Britta,  who  was  pretty  and  engaging  enough  to 
merit  attention,  and  who,  after  all,  was  something  more 
than  a  mere  servant,  possessing,  as  she  did,  a  great  deal  of 
her  young  mistress's  affection  and  confidence,  and  being 
always  treated  by  Gulclmar  himself  as  one  of  the  family. 
There  was  no  reserve  or  coldness  in  the  party,  and  the  hum 
of  their  merry  voices  echoed  up  to  the  cross-rafters  of  the 
stout  wooden  ceiling  and  through  the  open  door  and  window, 
from  whence  a  patch  of  the  gorgeous  afternoon  sky  could 
be  seen,  glimmering  redly,  like  a  distant  lake  of  fire.  They 
were  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  their  repast,  and  the  old 
farmer's  rollicking  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  in  response  to  a  joke  of 
Lorimer's,  had  just  echoed  jovially  through  the  room, 
when  a  strong,  harsh  voice  called  aloud — "  Olaf  Giild- 
mar !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  silence.  Each  one  looked  at  the 
other  in  surprise.  Again  the  voice  called — "  Olaf  Gtild- 
mar ! »  . 

"  Well !  "  roared  the  bonde  testily,  turning  sharply  round  jt 
in  his  chair,  "  who  calls  me?  " 

"  I  do !  "  and  the  tall,  emaciated  figure  of  a  woman  an- 
vanced  and  stood  on  the  threshold,  without  actually  enter- 
ing the  room.  She  dropped  the  black  shawl  that  enveloped 
her,  and,  in  so  doing,  disordered  her  hair,  which  fell  in 
white,  straggling  locks  about  her  withered  features,  and 
her  dark  eyes  gleamed  maliciously  as  she  fixed  them  on  the 
assembled  party.  Britta,  on  perceiving  her,  uttered  a  faint 
shriek,  and  without  considering  the  propriety  of  her  action, 
buried  her  nut-brown  curls  and  sparkling  eyes  in  Duprez's 
coat-sleeve,  which,  to  do  the  Frenchman  justice,  was  ex- 
ceedingly prompt  to  receive  and  shelter  its  fair  burden.  The 
bonde  rose  from  his  chair,  and  his  face  grew  stern. 

"  What  do  you  here,  Lovisa  Elsland  ?     Have  you  walked 


14d  TSELMA. 

thus  far  from  Talvig  to  pay  a  visit  that  must  needs  be  un- 
welcome ?  " 

"  Unwelcome  I  know  I  am,"  replied  Lovisa,  disdainfully 
noting  the  terror  of  Britta  and  the  astonished  glances  of 
Errington  and  his  friends — "  unwelcome  at  all  times, — but 
most  unwelcome  at  the  hour  of  feasting  and  folly, — for  who 
can  endure  to  receive  a  message  from  the  Lord  when  the 
mouth  is  full  of  savory  morsels,  and  the  braiu  reels  with  the 
wicked  wine  ?  Yet  I  have  come  in  spite  of  your  iniquities, 
Olaf  Guldmar, — strong  in  the  strength  of  the  Lord,  I  dare 
to  set  foot  upon  your  accursed  threshold,  and  once  more 
make  my  just  demand.  Give  me  back  the  child  of  my  dead 
daughter  !  .  .  .  .  restore  to  me  the  erring  creature  who 
should  be  the  prop  of  my  defenceless  age,  had  not  your 
pagan  spells  alienated  her  from  me, — release  her, — and  bid 
her  return  with  me  to  my  desolate  hearth  and  home.  This 
done, — I  will  stay  the  tempest  that  threatens  your  habita- 
tion— I  will  hold  back  the  dark  cloud  of  destruction — I  will 
avert  the  wrath  of  the  Lord, — yes  1  for  the  sake  of  the  past 
— for  the  sake  of  the  past !  " 

These  last  words  she  muttered  in  a  low  tone,  more  to 
herself  than  to  Guldmar ;  and,  having  spoken,  she  averted 
her  eyes  from  the  company,  drew  her  shawl  closely  about 
her,  and  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  By  all  the  gods  of  my  fathers!  "  shouted  the  bonde  in  a 
towering  passion.  "  This  passes  my  utmost  endurance  1 
Have  I  not  told  thee  again  and  again,  thou  silly  soul !  .  . 
.  that  thy  grandchild  is  no  slave  ?  She  is  free — free  to 
return  to  thee  an'  she  will ;  free  also  to  stay  with  us,  where 
she  has  found  a  happier  home  than  thy  miserable  hut  at 
Talvig.  Britta ! "  and  he  thumped  his  fist  on  the  table. 
"Look  up,  child!  Speak  for  thyself!  Thou  hast  a  spirit 
of  thine  own.  Here  is  thy  one  earthly  relation.  Wilt  go 
with  her  ?  Neither  thy  mistress  nor  I  will  stand  in  the 
way  of  thy  pleasure." 

Thus  adjured  Britta  looked  up  so  suddenly  that  Dupre'z, 
— who  had  rather  enjoyed  the  feel  of  her  little  nestling 
head  hidden  upon  his  arm, — was  quite  startled,  and  he  was 
still  more  so  at  the  utter  defiance  that  flashed  into  the 
small  maiden's  round,  rosy  face. 

"Go  with  you.'"  she  cried  shrilly,  addressing  the  old 
woman,  who  remained  standing  in  the  same  attitude,  with 
an  air  of  perfect  composure.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  for- 
gotten how  you  treated  my  mother,  or  how  you  used  to 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  147 

"beat  me  and  starve  me  ?  You  wicked  old  woman !  How 
dare  you  come  here?  I'm  ashamed  of  you!  You  fright- 
ened my  mother  to  death — you  know  you  did !  .  .  .  . 
and  now  you  want  to  do  the  same  to  me !  But  you  won't 
— I  can  tell  you  !  I'm  old  enough  to  do  as  I  like,  and  I'd 
rather  die  than  live  with  you !  " 

Then,  overcome  by  excitement  and  temper,  she  burst 
out  crying,  heedless  of  Pierre  Duprez's  smiling  nods  of  ap- 
proval, and  the  admiring  remarks  he  was  making  under  his 
breath,  such  as — "  Brava,  ma  petite  !  G^est  bien  fait!  c'est 
joliment  bien  dit !  Mais  je  crois  bien  !  " 

Lovisa  seemed  unmoved ;  she  raised  her  head  and  looked 
at  Guldmar. 

"  Is  this  your  answer  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  By  the  sword  of  Odin  !  "  cried  the  bonde,  "  the  woman 
must  be  mad !  My  answer  ?  The  girl  has  spoken  for  her- 
self,— and  plainly  enough  too !  Art  thou  deaf,  Lovisa  Els- 
iand  ?  or  are  thy  wits  astray  ?  " 

"  My  hearing  is  very  good,"  replied  Lovisa  calmly,  "  and 
my  mind,  Olaf  Guldmar,  is  as  clear  as  yours.  And,  thanks 
to  your  teaching  in  mine  early  days," — she  paused  and 
looked  keenly  at  him,  but  he  appeared  to  see  no  meaning 
in  her  allusion, — "  I  know  the  English  tongue,  of  which  we 
hear  far  too  much, — too  often  I  There  is  nothing  Britta 
has  said  that  I  do  not  understand.  But  I  know  well  it  is 
not  the  girl  herself  that  speaks — it  is  a  demon  in  her, — 
and  that  demon  shall  be  cast  forth  before  I  die !  Yea,  with 

the  help  of  the  Lord  I  shall "  She  stopped  abruptty 

and  fixed  her  eyes,  glowing  with  fierce  wrath,  on  Thelma. 
The  girl  met  her  evil  glance  with  a  gentle  surprise.  Lovisa 
smiled  malignantly. 

"  You  know  me,  I  think  I "  said  Lovisa.  "  You  have 
seen  me  before  ?  " 

"  Often,"  answered  Thelma  mildly.  "  I  have  always 
been  sorry  for  you." 

"  Sorry  for  me  !  "  almost  yelled  the  old  woman.  "  Why 
— why  are  you  sorry  for  me  ? " 

"  Do  not  answer  her,  child  1 "  interrupted  Guldmar  an- 
grily. "  She  is  mad  as  the  winds  of  a  wild  winter,  and  will 
but  vex  thee." 

But  Thelma  laid  her  hand  soothingly  on  her  father's,  and 
smiled  peacefully  as  she  turned  her  fair  face  again  towards 
Lovisa. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  said.     "  Because  you  seem  so  very  lonely 


148  THELMA. 

and  sad — and  that  must  make  you  cross  with  every  one 
who  is  happy  !  And  it  is  a  pity,  I  think,  that  you  do  not 
let  Britta  alone — you  only  quarrel  with  each  other  when 
you  meet.  And  would  you  not  like  her  to  think  kindly  ol 
you  when  you  are  dead  ?  " 

Lovisa  seemed  choking  with  anger, — her  face  worked 
into  such  hideous  grimaces,  that  all  present,  save  Thelma, 
were  dismayed  at  her  repulsive  aspect. 

"  When  I  am  dead  1 "  she  muttered  hoarsely.  "  So  you 
count  upon  that  already,  do  you  ?  Ah  I  ...  but  do 
you  know  which  of  us  shall  die  first!  "  T'len  raising  her 
voice  with  an  effort  she  exclaimed — 

"  Stand  forth,  Thelma  Guldmar !  Let  me  see  you  closely 
— face  to  face  1 " 

Errington  said  something  in  a  low  tone,  and  the  bonde 
would  have  again  interfered,  but  Thelma  shook  her  head, 
smiled  and  rose  from  her  seat  at  table. 

"  Anything  to  soothe  her,  poor  soul  1 "  she  whispered,  as 
she  left  Errington's  side  and  advanced  towards  Lovisa  till 
she  was  within  reach  of  the  old  woman's  hand.  She  looked 
like  some  grand  white  angel,  who  had  stepped  down  trom  a 
cathedral  altar,  as  she  stood  erect  and  stately  with  a 
gravely  pitying  expression  in  her  lovely  eyes,  confronting 
the  sable-draped,  withered,  leering  hag,  who  fixed  upon  her 
a  steady  look  of  the  most  cruel  and  pitiless  hatred. 

"  Daughter  of  Satan !  "  said  Lovisa  then,  in  intense 
piercing  tones  that  somehow  carried  with  them  a  sense  of 
awe  and  horror.  "  Creature,  in  whose  veins  the  fire  of  hell 
burns  without  ceasing, — my  curse  upon  you !  My  curse 
upon  the  beauty  of  your  body — may  it  grow  loathsome  in 
the  sight  of  all  men !  May  those  who  embrace  you,  embrace 
misfortune  and  ruin  ! — may  love  betray  you  and  forsake  you  ! 
May  your  heart  be  broken  even  as  mine  has  been  ! — may 
your  bridal  bed  be  left  deserted ! — may  your  children  wither 
and  pine  from  their  hour  of  birth  !  Sorrow  track  you  to 
the  grave ! — may  your  death  be  lingering  and  horrible  1 
God  be  my  witness  and  fulfill  my  words  !  " 

And,  raising  her  arms  with  wild  gesture,  she  turned  and 
left  the  house.  The  spell  of  stupefied  silence  was  broken 
with  her  disappearance.  Old  Guldmar  prepared  to  rush 
after  her  and  force  her  to  retract  her  evil  speech, — Erring- 
ton  was  furious,  and  Britta  cried  bitterly.  The  lazy  Lori- 
mer  was  excited  and  annoyed. 

"  Fetch  her  back,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll  dance  upon  her!  " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  149 

But  Thelma  stood  where  the  old  woman  had  left  her — 
she  smiled  faintly,  but  she  was  very  pale.  Ellington  ap- 
proached her, — she  turned  to  him  and  stretched  out  her 
hands  with  a  little  appealing  gesture. 

u  My  friend,"  she  said  softly,  "  do  you  think  I  deserve 
so  many  curses  ?  Is  there  something  about  me  that  is 
evil  ?  "  * 

What  Errington  would  have  answered  is  doubtful, — his 
heart  beat  wildly — he  longed  to  draw  those  little  hands  in 
his  own,  and  cover  them  with  passionate  kisses, — but  he 
was  intercepted  by  old  Giildmar,  who  caught  his  daughter 
in  his  arms  and  hugged  her  closely,  his  silvery  beard 
mingling  with  the  gold  of  her  rippling  hair. 

"Never  fear  a  wicked  tongue,  my  bird!"  said  the  old 
man  fondly.  "  There  is  naught  of  harm  that  would  touch 
thee  either  on  earth  or  in  heaven, — and  a  foul-mouthed  curse 
must  roll  off  thy  soul  like  water  from  a  dove's  wing ! 
Cheer  thee,  my  darling — cheer  thee !  What !  Thine  own 
creed  teaches  thee  that  the  gentle  Mother  of  Christ,  with 
her  little  white  angels  round  her,  watches  over  all  innocent 
maids, — and  thinkest  thou  she  will  let  an  old  woman's 
malice  and  envy  blight  thy  young  days?  No,  no!  Thou 
accursed?"  And  the  bonde  laughed  loudly  to  hide  the 
tears  that  moistened  his  keen  eyes.  "  Thou  art  the  sweet- 
est blessing  of  my  heart,  even  as  thy  mother  was  before 
thee  1  Come,  come !  Raise  thy  pretty  head — here  are 
these  merry  lads  growing  long-faced, — and  Britta  is. weep- 
ing enough  salt  water  to  fill  a  bucket  1  One  of  thy  smiles 
will  set  us  all  right  again, — ay,  there  now  1  " — as  she  looked 
up  and,  meeting  Philip's  eloquent  eyes,  blushed,  and  with- 
drew herself  gently  from  her  father's  arms, — "  Let  us  finish 
our  supper  and  think  no  more  of  yonder  villainous  old  hag 
— she  is  crazy,  I  believe,  and  knows  not  what  she  says  half 
her  time.  Now,  Britta,  cease  thy  grunting  and  sighing — 
'twill  spoil  thy  face  and  will  not  mend  the  hole  in  thy  grand- 
mother's brain !  " 

"  Wicked,  spiteful,  ugly  old  thing !  "  sobbed  Britta ; 
"  I'll  never,  never,  never  forgive  her!  "  Then,  running  to 
Thelma,  she  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it  affectionately. 
"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear !  To  think  she  should  have  cursed 
you,  what  dreadful,  dreadful  wickedness !  Oh  1 "  and 
Britta  looked  volumes  of  wrath.  "  I  could  have  beaten  her 
black  and  blue  1 " 

Her  vicious  eagerness   was  almost    comic — every    one 


150  THELMA. 

laughed,  including  Thelma,  though  she  pressed  the  hand  of 
her  little  servant  very  warmly. 

"  Oh  fie !  "  said  Lorimer  seriously.  "  Little  girls  mustn't 
whip  their  grandmothers;  it's  specially  forbidden  in  the 
Prayer-book,  isn't  it,  Phil  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  1 "  replied  Errington  merrily. 
"  I  believe  there  is  something  to  the  effect  that  a  man  may 
not  marry  his  grandmother — perhaps  that  is  what  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Ah,  no  doubt ! "  murmured  Lorimer  languid!}'',  as,  with 
the  others,  he  resumed  his  seat  at  the  supper-table.  "  I 
knew  there  was  a  special  mandate  respecting  one's  particu- 
larly venerable  relations,  with  a  view  to  self-guidance  in  case 
they  should  prove  troublesome,  like  Britta's  good  grand- 
mamma. What  a  frightfully  picturesque  mouthing  old 
lady  she  is !  " 

"  She  is  la  petroleuse  of  Norway !  "  exclaimed  Dnprez. 
*'  She  would  make  an  admirable  dancer  in  the  Carmagnole ! " 

Macfarlane,  who  had  preserved  a  discreet  silence  through- 
out the  whole  scene,  here  looked  up. 

"  She's  just  a  screech-owl  o'  mistaken  piety,"  he  said. 
"  She  minds  me  o'  a  glowerin'  auld  warlock  of  an  aunt  o' 
mine  in  Glasgie,  wha  sits  in  her  chair  a'  day  wi'  ae  finger 
on  the  Bible.  She  says  she's  gaun  straight  to  heaven  by 
special  invitation  o'  the  Lord,  lea v in'  a'  her  blood  relations 
howlin'  vainly  after  her  from  their  roastin'  fires  down 
below.  Ma  certes !  she'll  give  ye  a  good  rousin'  curse  if 
ye  like  !  She's  cursed  me  ever  since  I  can  remember  her, 
— cursed  me  in  and  out  from  sunrise  to  sunset, — but  I'm  no 
the  worse  for't  as  yet, — an'  it's  dootful  whether  she's  any 
the  better." 

"  And  yet  Lovisa  Elsland  used  to  be  as  merry  and  lissom 
a  lass  as  ever  stepped,"  said  Giildmar  musingly.  "  I  re- 
member her  well  when  both  she  and  I  were  young.  I  was 
always  on  the  sea  a^  that  time, — never  happy  unless  the 
waves  tossed  me  and  my  vessel  from  one  shore  to  another. 
I  suppose  the  re.t^ess  spirit  of  my  fathers  was  in  me.  I 
was  never  conten  ed  unless  I  saw  SCBC,_  '  ;w  coast  every  six 
mouths  or  so.  Well! Lovi:a  was  always  fore- 
most among  the  girls  of  the  village  who  watched  me  leave 
the  Fjord, — and  however  long  or  short  a  time  I  might  be 
absent,  she  was  certain  to  be  on  the  shore  when  my  ship 
came  sailing  home  again.  Man}'  a  joke  I  have  cracked  with 
her  an.d  her  companions— and  she  was  a,  bonnie  enough 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  151 

creature  to  look  at  then,  I  tell  you, — though  now  she  is 
like  a  battered  figure-head  on  a  wreck.  Her  marriage 
spoiled  her  temper, — her  husband  was  as  dark  and  sour  a 
man  as  could  be  met  with  in  all  Norway,  and  when  he  and 
his  fishing-boat  sank  in  a  squall  off  the  Lofoden  Islands,  I 
doubt  if  she  shed  many  tears  for  his  loss.  Her  only 
daughter's  husband  went  down  in  the  same  storm, — and  he 
but  three  months  wedded, — and  the  girl, — Britta's  mother, 
• — pined  and  pined,  and  even  when  her  child  was  born  took 
no  sort  of  comfort  in  it.  She  died  four  years  after  Britta's 
birth — her  death  was  hastened,  so  I  have  heard,  through 
old  Lovisa's  harsh  treatment, — anyhow  the  little  lass  she 
left  behind  her  had  no  very  easy  time  of  it  all  alone  with 
her  grandmother, — eh  Britta  ?  " 

Britta  looked  up  and  shook  her  head  emphatically. 

"  Then,"  went  on  Giildmar,  "  when  my  girl  came  back 
the  last  time  from  France,  Britta  chanced  to  see  her,  and, 
strangely  enough," — here  he  winked  shrewdly — "  took  a 
fancy  to  her  face, — odd,  wasn't  it  ?  However,  nothing 
would  suit  her  but  that  she  must  be  Thelma's  handmaiden, 
and  here  she  is.  Now  you  know  her  history, — she  would 
be  happy  enough  if  her  grandmother  would  let  her  alone  ; 
but  the  sill}'  old  woman  thinks  the  girl  is  under  a  spell,  and 
that  Thelma  is  the  witch  that  works  it ; " — and  the  old 
farmer  laughed.  "  There's  a  grain  of  truth  in  the  notion 
too,  but  not  in  the  way  she  has  of  looking  at  it." 

"  All  women  are  witches  I  "  said  Duprez.  "  Britta  is  a 
little  witch  herself!  " 

Britta's  rosy  cheeks  grew  rosier  at  this,  and  she  tossed 
her  chestnut  curls  with  an  air  of  saucy  defiance  that  de- 
lighted the  Frenchman.  He  forgot  his  wounded  cheek  and 
his  disfiguring  bandages  in  the  contemplation  of  the  little 
plump  figure,  cased  in  its  close-fitting  scarlet  bodice,  and  the 
tempting  rosy  lips  that  were  in  such  close  proximity  to  his 
touch. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  those  red  hands  !  "  he  thought. 
"  Dieu  !  what  a  charming  child  she  would  be  !  One  would 
instantly  kill  the  grandmother  and  kiss  the  granddaughter  1  " 

And  he  watched  her  with  admiration  as  she  busied  her- 
self about  the  supper-table,  attending  to  every  one  with 
diligence  and  care,  but  reserving  her  special  services  for 
Thelrna,  whom  she  waited  on  with  a  mingled  tenderness,  and 
reverence,  that  were  both  touching  and  pretty  to  see. 

The  conversation  now  became  general,  and  nothing  fur- 


152  THELMA. 

ther  occurred  to  disturb  the  harmony  and  hilarity  of  the 
party — only  Errington  seemed  somewhat  abstracted,  and 
answered  many  questions  that  were  put  to  him  at  hap- 
hazard, without  knowing,  or  possibly  caring,  whether  his 
replies  were  intelligible  or  incoherent.  His  thoughts  were 
dreamlike  and  brilliant  with  fairy  sunshine.  lie  under- 
stood at  last  what  poets  meant  by  their  melodious  musings, 
woven  into  golden  threads  of  song — he  seemed  to  have 
grasped  some  hitherto  unguessed  secret  of  his  being — a 
secret  that  filled  him  with  as  much  strange  pain  as  pleas- 
ure. He  felt  as  though  he  were  endowed  with  a  thousand 
senses, — each  one  keenly  alive  and  sensitive  to  the  smallest 
touch, — and  there  was  a  pulsation  in  his  blood  that  was  new 
and  beyond  his  control, — a  something  that  beat  wildly  in 
his  heart  at  the  sound  of  Thelma's  voice,  or  the  passing 
flutter  of  her  white  garments  near  him.  Of  what  use  to 
disguise  it  from  himself  any  longer?  He  loved  her!  The 
terrible,  beautiful  tempest  of  love  had  broken  over  his  life 
at  last ;  there  was  no  escape  from  its  thunderous  passion 
and  dazzling  lightning  glory. 

He  drew  a  sharp  quick  breath — the  hum  of  the  gay 
voices  around  him  was  more  meaningless  to  his  ears  than 
the  sound  of  the  sea  breaking  on  the  beach  below.  He 
glanced  at  the  girl — the  fair  and  innocent  creature  who  had, 
in  his  imagination,  risen  to  a  throne  of  imperial  height, 
from  whence  she  could  bestow  on  him  death  or  salvation. 
How  calm  she  seemed !  She  was  listening  with  courteous 
patience  to  a  long  story  of  Macfarlane's  whose  Scotch 
accent  rendered  it  difficult  for  her  to  understand.  She  was 
pale,  Philip  thought,  and  her  eyes  were  heavy  ;  but  she 
smiled  now  and  then, — such  a  smile  1  Even  so  sweetly 
might  the  "  kiss-worthy  "  lips  of  the  Greek  A  phrodite  part, 
could  that  eloquent  and  matchless  marble  for  once  breathe 
into  life.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  fear.  Her  hands 
held  his  fate.  What  if  she  could  not  love  him  ?  What  if 
he  must  lose  her  utterly  ?  This  idea  overpowered*  him  ;  his 
brain  whirled,  and  he  suddenly  pushed  away  his  untasted 
glass  of  wine,  and  rose  abruptly  from  the  table,  heedless  of 
the  surprise  his  action  excited. 

"  Hullo,  Phil,  where  are  you  off  to  ?  "  cried  Lorimer. 
"  Wait  for  me  !  " 

"  Tired  of  our  company,  my  lad  ?  "  said  Giildmar  kindly, 
"  You've  had  a  long  day  of  it, — and  what  with  the  climbing 
and  the  strong  air,  no  doubt  you'll  be  glad  to  turn  in-'' 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  153 

"  Upon  my  life,  sir,"  answered  Errington,with  some  con- 
fusion,  "  I  don't  know  why  I  got  up  just  now  !  I  was 
thinking, — I'm  rather  a  dreamy  sort  of  fellow  sometimes, 
and " 

"  He  was  asleep,  and  doesn't  want  to  own  it !  "  inter- 
rupted Lorimer  sententiously.  "  You  will  excuse  him  ;•  he 
means  well !  He  looks  rather  seedy.  I  think,  Mr.  Giild- 
inar,  we'll  be  off  to  the  yacht.  By  the  way,  you're  coming 
with  us  to-morrow,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Thelma.  "  We  will  sail  with  you  round 
by  Soroe, — it  is  weird  and  dark  and  grand ;  but  I  think  it 
is  beautiful.  And  there  are  many  stories  of  the  elves  and 
berg-folk,  who  are  said  to  dwell  there  among  the  deep  ra- 
vines. Have  you  heard  about  the  berg-folk?"  she  con- 
tinued, addressing  herself  to  Errington,  unaware  of  the 
effort  he  was  making  to  appear  cool  and  composed  in  her 
presence.  "  No?  Then  I  must  tell  you  to-morrow." 

They  all  walked  out  of  the  house  into  the  porch,  and 
while  her  father  was  interchanging  farewells  with  the  oth- 
ers, she  looked  at  Sir  Philip's  grave  face  with  some  solici- 
tude. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  tired,  my  friend  ?  "  she  asked 
softly,  "  or  your  head  aches, — and  3-011  suffer  ?  " 

He  caught  her  hands  swiftly  and  raised  them  to  his  lips. 

"  Would  you  care  much, — would  you  care  at  all,  if  I  suf- 
fered ?  "  he  murmured  in  a  low  tone. 

Then  before  she  could  speak  or  move,  he  let  go  her  hands 
again,  and  turned  with  his  usual  easy  courtesy  to  Giildmar. 
J'  Then  we  may  expect  you  without  fail  to-morrow,  sir ! 
Good  night ! " 

"  Good  night,  my  lad  1 " 

.And  with  many  hearty  salutations  the  young  men  took 
their  departure,  raising  their  hats  to  Thelma  as  they  turned 
down  the  winding  path  to  the  shore.  She  remained  stand- 
ing near  her  father, — and,  when  the  sound  of  their  foot- 
steps had  died  away,  she  drew  closer  still  and  laid  her  head 
against  his  breast. 

"  Cold,  my  bird  ?  "  queried  the  old  man.  "  Why,  thou  art 
shivering,  child  ! — and  yet  the  sunshine  is  as  warm  as  wine. 
What  ails  thee  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  father  !  "  And  she  raised  her  eyes,  glowing 
and  brilliant  as  stars.  "  Tell  me, — do  you  think  often  of 
i».y  mother  now  !  " 

'*  Often  I  "      And  Giildmar's  fine  resolute  face  grew  sad 


).54  THELMA. 

and  tender.  "  She  is  never  absent  from  my  mind !  I  see  her 
night  and  day,  a,y  !  I  can  feel  her  soft  arms  clinging  round 
my  neck, — why  dost  thou  ask  so  strange  a  question,  little 
one  ?  Is  it  possible  to  forget  what  has  been  once  loved  ?  " 

Thelma  was  silent  for  man}^  minutes.  Then  she  kissed 
her  father  and  said  "  good  night."  He  held  her  by  the  hand 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  vague  anxiety. 

"  Art  thou  well,  my  child  ?  "  he  asked.  "  This  little  hand 
burns  like  fire, — and  thine  eyes  are  too  bright,  surely,  for 
sleep  to  visit  them  ?  Art  sure  that  nothing  ails  thee  ?  " 

"  Sure,  quite  sure,"  answered  the  girl  with  a  strange, 
dreamy  smile.  "  I  am  quite  well, — and  happy  !  " 

And  she  turned  to  enter  the  house. 

"  Stay  !  "  called  the  father.  "  Promise  me  thou  wilt  think 
no  more  of  Lovisa  !  " 

u  I  had  nearly  forgotten  her,"  she  responded.  "  Poor 
thing !  She  cursed  me  because  she  is  so  miserable,  I  sup- 
pose— all  alone  and  unloved ;  it  must  be  hard !  Curses 
sometimes  turn  to  blessings,  father !  Good  night !  " 

And  she  ascended  the  one  flight  of  wooden  stairs  in  the 
house  to  her  own  bedroom — a  little  three-cornered  place  as 
clean  and  white  as  the  interior  of  a  shell.  Never  once 
glancing  at  the  small  mirror  that  seemed  to  invite  her 
charms  to  reflect  themselves  therein,  she  went  to  the  quaint 
latticed  window  and  knelt  down  by  it,  folding  her  arms  on 
the  sill  while  she  looked  far  out  to  the  Fjord.  She  could 
see  the  English  flag  fluttering  from  the  masts  cf  the  Eula- 
lie ;  she  could  almost  hear  the  steady  plash  of  the  oars 
wielded  by  Errington  and  his  friends  as  they  rowed  them- 
selves back  to  the  yacht.  Bright  tears  filled  her  eyes,  and 
brimmed  over,  falling  warmly  on  her  folded  hands. 

"  Would  I  care  if  you  suffered  ?"  she  whispered.  "Oh, 
my  love  !  .  .  .  my  love  1  " 

Then,  as  if  afraid  lest  the  very  winds  should  have  heard 
her  half-breathed  exclamation,  she  shut  her  window  in 
haste,  and  a  hot  blush  crimsoned  her  cheeks. 

Undressing  quickly,  she  slipped  into  her  little  white  bed 
and,  closing  her  eyes,  fancied  she  slept,  though  her  sleep 
was  but  a  waking  dream  of  love  in  which  all  bright  hopes 
reached  their  utmost  fulfillment,  and  yet  were  in  some 
strange  way  crossed  with  shadows  which  she  had  no  power 
to  disperse.  And  later  on,  when  old  Giildmar  slumbered 
soundly,  and  the  golden  mid-night  sunshine  lit  up  every 
uook  and  gable  of  the  farmhouse  with  its  lustrous  glory,— 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  8UN.  155 

making  Thelma's  closed  lattice  sparkle  like  a  carven  jewel, 
— a  desolate  figure  lay  prone  on  the  grass  beneath  her  win- 
dow, with  meagre  pale  face,  and  wide-open  wild  blue  eyes 
upturned  to  the  fiery  brillancy  of  the  heavens.  Sigurd 
had  come  home ; — Sigurd  was  repentant,  sorrowful, 
ashamed, — and  broken-hearted. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  O  Love !  O  Love !  O  Gateway  of  Delight ! 

Thou  porch  of  peace,  thou  pageant  of  the  prime 
Of  all  God's  creatures !  I  am  here  to  climb 

Thine  upward  steps,  and  daily  and  by  night 
To  gaze  beyond  them  and  to  search  aright 

The  far-off  splendor  of  thy  track  sublime." 

ERIC  MACKAY'S  Love-letters  of  a  Violinist. 

ON  the  following  morning  the  heat  was  intense, — no 
breath  of  wind  stirred  a  ripple  on  the  Fjord,  and  there  was 
a  heaviness  in  the  atmosphere  which  made  the  veiy  bright- 
ness of  the  sky  oppressive.  Such  hot  weather  was  unusual 
for  that  part  of  Norway,  and  according  to  Valdemar  Sven- 
sen,  betokened  some  change.  On  board  the  Eulalie  every- 
thing was  ready  for  the  trip  to  Soroe, — steam  was  getting 
up  prior  to  departure, — and  a  group  of  red-capped  sailors 
stood  prepared  to  weigh  the  anchor  as  soon  as  the  signal 
was  given.  Breakfast  was  over, — Macfarlane  was  in  the 
saloon  writing  his  journal,  which  he  kept  with  great  ex- 
actitude, and  Duprez,  who,  on  account  of  his  wound,  was 
considered  something  of  an  invalid,  was  seated  in  a  lounge 
chair  on  deck,  delightedly  turning  over  a  bundle  of  inflam- 
matory French  political  journals  received  that  morning. 
Errington  and  Lorimer  were  pacing  the  deck  arm  in  arm, 
keeping  a  sharp  look-out  for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  re- 
turning boat  which  had  been  sent  off  to  fetch  Thelma  and 
her  father.  Errington  looked  vexed  and  excited, — Lorimer 
bland  and  convincing. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Phil !  "  he  said.  "  It's  no  use  fretting 
and  fuming  at  me.  It  was  like  Dyceworthy's  impudence, 
of  course, — but  there's  no  doubt  he  proposed  to  her, — and 
it's  equally  certain  that  she  rejected  him.  I  thought  I'd 
tell  you  3"ou  had  a  rival, — not  in  me,  as  you  seemed  to 
think  yesterday, — but  in  our  holy  fat  friend." 

"Rival!  pshaw!"  returned  Errington,  with  an  angry 
laugh.  "  He  is  not  worth  kicking !  " 


156  THELMA. 

"  Possibly  not  1  Still  I  have  a  presentiment  that  he's 
the  sort  of  fellow  that  won't  take  '  no  '  for  an  answer. 
He'll  dodge  that  poor  girl  and  make  her  life  miserable  if  he 
can,  unless " 

"  Unless  what  ? "  asked  Philip  quickly. 

Lorimer  stopped  in  his  walk,  and,  leaning  against  the 
deck-railings,  looked  his  friend  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"  Unless  you  settle  the  matter,"  he  said  with  a  slight  ef- 
fort. "  You  love  her,— tell  her  so  ! " 

Errington  laid  one  hand  earnestly  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  George,  you  don't  understand  !  "  he  said  in  a  low 
tone,  while  his  face  was  grave  and  full  of  trouble.  "  I 
used  to  think  I  was  fairly  brave,  but  I  find  I  am  a  positive 
coward.  I  dare  not  tell  her !  She — Thelma — is  not  like 
other  women.  You  may  think  ine  a  fool, — I  dare  say  you 
do, — but  I  swear  to  you  I  am  afraid  to  speak,  because — be- 
cause, old  boy, — if  she  were  to  refuse  me, — if  I  knew  there 
was  no  hope — well,  I  don't  want  to  be  sentimental, — but 
my  life  would  be  utterly  empty  aivt  worthless, — so  useless, 
that  I  doubt  if  I  should  care  to  live  it  out  to  the  bitter 
end !  " 

Lorimer  heard  him  in  silence. — a  silence  maintained 
partly  out  of  sympathy,  and  partly  that  he  might  keep  his 
own  feelings  well  under  control. 

"  But  why  persist  in  looking  at  the  gloomy  side  of  the 
picture?  "  he  said  at  last.  "  Suppose  she  loves  3*011  ?  " 

"  Suppose  an  angel  flew  down  from  Heaven  !  "  replied 
Philip,  with  rather  a  sad  smile.  "  M  v  dear  fellow,  who  am 
I  that  I  should  flatter  myself  so  far  I  If  she  were  one  of 
those  ordinary  women  to  whom  marmge  is  the  be-all  and 
end-all  of  existence,  it  would  be  diffr-ent — but  she  is  not, 
Her  thoughts  are  like  those  of  a  chrd  or  a  poet, — why 
should  I  trouble  them  by  the  selfishi>  <ss  of  my  passion  ? 
for  all  passion  is  selfish,  even  at  its  be^t.  Why  should  I 
venture  to  break  the  calm  friendship  she  »nay  have  for  mey 
by  telling  her  of  a  love  which  might  prove  unwelcome !  " 

Lorimer  looked  at  him  with  gentle  amusement  depicted 
in  his  face. 

"  Phil,  you  are  less  conceited  than  I  thought  y>Hi  were," 
he  said,  with  a  light  laugh,  "  or  else  you  are  blin" — blind 
as  a  bat,  old  man  !  Take  my  advice, — don't  lose  any  more 
time  about  it.  Make  the  '  king's  daughter  of  Normway' 

happy, "  and  a  brief  sigh  escaped  him, 

•*You  are  the  man  to  do  it.  I  am  surprised  sf  your 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  157 

dcnsit}' ;  Sigurd,  the  lunatic,  has  more  perception.  He 
sees  which  way  the  wind  blows, — and  that's  why  he's  so 
desperately  unhappy.  He  thinks — and  thinks  rightly  too 
— that  he  will  lose  his  '  beautiful  rose  of  the  northern  for- 
est,' as  he  calls  her, — and  that  }TOU  are  to  be  the  robber. 
Hence  his  dislike  to  you.  Dear  me ! "  and  Lorimer  lit  a 
cigarette  and  puffed  at  it  complacently.  "It  seems  to  me 
that  my  wits  are  becoming  sharper  as  I  grow  older,  and 
thut  yours,  my  dear  boy, — pardon  me !  .  .  .  are  get- 
ting somewhat  blunted,  otherwise  you  would  certainly 
have  perceived "  he  broke  off  abruptly. 

"  Well,  go  on !  "  exclaimed  Philip  eagerly,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  Perceived  what  ?  " 

Lorimer  laughed.  "  That  the  boat  containing  j'our  Sun- 
empress  is  coming  along  very  rapidly,  old  fellow,  and  that 
you'd  better  make  haste  to  receive  her !  " 

This  was  the  fact,  and  Duprez  had  risen  from  his  chair 
and  was  waving  his  French  newspaper  energetically  to  the 
approaching  visitors.  Errington  hastened  to  the  gangway 
with  a  brighter  flush  than  usual  on  his  handsome  face,  and 
his  heart  beating  with  a  new  sense  of  exhilaration  and  ex- 
citement. If  Lorimer's  hints  had  any  foundation  of  truth 
— if  Thelma  loved  him  ever  so  little — how  wild  a  dream  it 
seemed !  .  .  .  why  not  risk  his  fate  ?  He  resolved  to 
speak  to  her  that  very  day  if  opportunity  favored  him, — 
and,  having  thus  decided,  felt  quite  masterful  and  heroic 
about  it. 

This  feeling  of  proud  and  tender  elation  increased  when 
Thelma  stepped  on  deck  that  morning  and  laid  her  hands 
in  his.  For,  as  he  greeted  her  and  her  father,  he  saw  at  a 
glance  that  she  was  slightly  changed.  Some  restless 
dream  must  have  haunted  her — or  his  hurried  words  be- 
neath the  porch,  when  he  parted  from  her  the  previous- 
evening,  had  startled  her  and  troubled  her  mind.  Her  blue 
ayes  were  no  longer  raised  to  his  in  absolute  candor, — her 
voice  was  timid,  and  she  had  lost  something  of  her  usual 
buoyant  and  graceful  self-possession.  But  she  looked  love- 
lier than  ever  with  that  air  of  shy  hesitation  and  appealing 
sweetness.  Love  had  thrown  his  network  of  light  about 
her  soul  and  body  till,  like  Keats's  "  Madeleine," 

"She  seemed  a  splendid  angel  newly  drest 
Save  wings,  for  heaven  !  " 

As  soon  as  the  GUldmars  were  on  board,  the  anchor  was 


158  THELMA. 

weighed  with  many  a  cheery  and  musical  cry  from  the 
sailors ;  the  wheel  revolved  rapidly  under  Valdemar  Sven- 
sen's  firm  hand, — and  with  a  grand  outward  sweeping 
curtsy  to  the  majestic  Fjord  she  left  behind  her,  the  Eulalie 
steamed  away,  cutting  a  glittering  line  of  white  foam 
through  the  smooth  water  as  she  went,  and  threading  her 
way  swiftly  among  the  clustering  picturesque  islands, — 
while  the  inhabitants  of  every  little  farm  and  hamlet  on 
the  shores,  stopped  for  a  while  in  their  occupations  to  stare 
at  the  superb  vessel,  and  to  dreamily  envy  the  wealth  of 
the  English  Herren  who  could  aft'ord  to  pass  the  summer 
months  in  such  luxury  and  idleness.  Thelma  seated  her- 
self at  once  by  Duprez,  and  seemed  glad  to  divert  atten- 
tion from  herself  to  him. 

"  You  are  better,  Monsieur  Duprez,  are  }rou  not  ?  "  she 
asked  gently.  "  We  saw  Sigurd  this  morning ;  he  came 
home  last  night.  He  is  very,  very  sorry  to  have  hurt 
you !  " 

"  He  need  not  apologize,"  said  Duprez  cheerfully.  "  I 
am  delighted  he  gave  me  this  scar,  otherwise  I  am  confi- 
dent he  would  have  put  out  the  eye  of  Phil-eep.  And  that 
would  have  been  a  misfortune !  For  what  would  the  ladies 
in  London  say  if  le  beau  Errington  returned  to  them  with 
one  eye !  Mon  Dieu!  they  would  all  be  en  desespoir  !  " 

Thelma  looked  up.  Philip  was  standing  at  some  little 
distance  with  Olaf  Giildmar  and  Lorimer,  talking  and 
laughing  gaily.  His  cap  was  slightly  pushed  off  his  fore- 
head, and  the  sun  shone  on  his  thick  dark-chestnut  curls ; 
his  features,  warmly  colored  by  the  wind  and  sea,  were  lit 
up  with  mirth,  and  his  even  white  teeth  sparkled  in  an  ir- 
resistible smile  of  fascinating  good-humor.  He  was  the 
beau-ideal  of  the  best  type  of  Englishman,  in  the  full  tide 
of  youth,  health  and  good  spirits. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  a  great  favorite  with  all  those  beautiful 
ladies  ?  "  she  asked  very  quietly. 

Something  of  gentle  resignation  in  her  tone  struck  the 
Frenchman's  sense  of  chivalry ;  had  she  been  like  any  or- 
dinary woman,  bent  on  conquest,  he  would  have  taken  a 
mischievous  delight  in  :  p'enting  a  long  list  of  fair  ones 
supposed  to  be  deeply  er  mored  of  Errington's  good  looks, 
— but  this  girl's  innocent  inquiring  face  inspired  him  with 
quite  a  different  sentiment. 

"  Mais  cerlainement  1  "  Le  said  frankly  and  emphatically. 
"  Phil-eep  is  a  favorite  everywhere  !  Yet  not  more  so  with 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  159 

women  than  with  men.  I  love  him  extreme!}* — he  is  a 
charming  boy  !  Then  you  see,  chere  Mademoiselle,  he  is 
rich, — very  rich, — and  there  are  so  many  pretty  girls  who 
are  very  poor, — naturally  they  are  enchanted  with  our  Er- 
rington — voyez-vous  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  with  a  puzzled  brow. 
"  It  is  not  possible  that  they  should  like  him  better  because 
he  is  rich.  He  would  be  the  same  man  without  money  as 
with  it — it  makes  no  difference  !  " 

"  Perhaps  not  to  you,"  returned  Duprfcz,  with  a  smile ; 
"  but  to  many  it  would  make  an  immense  difference  !  Chere 
Mademoiselle,  it  is  a  grand  thing  to  have  plenty  of  money, 
— believe  me  !  " 

Thelma  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Perhaps,"  she  an- 
swered indifferently.  "  But  one  cannot  spend  much  on 
one's  self,  after  all.  .The  nuns  at  Aries  used  to  tell  me  that 
poverty  was  a  virtue,  and  that  to  be  very  rich  was  to  be 
very  miserable.  They  were  poor, — all  those  good  women, 
— and  they  were  always  cheerful." 

"  The  nuns  !  ah,  mon  Dieu  J  "  cried  Dnprez.  "  The 
darlings  know  not  the  taste  of  joy — they  speak  of  what 
they  cannot  understand  !  How  should  they  know  what  it  is 
to  be  happy  or  unhappy,  when  they  bar  their  great  convent 
doors  against  the  very  name  of  love  !  " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  color  rose. 

u  You  always  talk  of  love"  she  said,  half  reproachfully, 
"  as  if  it  were  so  common  a  thing  !  You  know  it  is  sacred 
— why  will  you  speak  as  if  it  were  all  a  jest  ?  " 

A  strange  emotion  of  admiring  tenderness  stirred  Pierre's 
heart — he  was  very  impulsive  and  impressionable. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  murmured  penitently.  Then  he 
added  suddenly,  "  You  should  have  lived  ages  ago,  ma  belle, 
— the  world  of  to-day  will  not  suit  you  !  You  will  be  made 
very  sorrowful  in  it,  I  assure  you, — it  is  not  a  place  for 
good  women  !  " 

She  laughed.  "  You  are  morose,"  she  said.  "  That  is 
not  like  you  !  No  one  is  good, — we  ah  live  to  try  and  make 
ourselves  better." 

"What  highly  moral  converse  is  going  on  here?"  in- 
quired Lorimer,  strolling  leisurely  up  to  them.  "  Are  you 
giving  Duprez  a  lecture,  Miss  Giildmar  ?  He  needs  it, — so 
do  I.  Please  give  me  a  scolding !  " 

And  he  folded  his  hands  with  an  air  of  demure  appeal. 

A,  sunny  smjje,  danced  in  the  girl's  blue  eyes.    "  Always 


160  THELMA. 

you  will  be  foolish  1 "  she  said.  "  One  can  never  know  you 
because  I  am  sure  you  never  show  your  real  self  to  any- 
body. No, — I  will  not  scold  you,  but  I  should  like  to  find 
you  out !  " 

"  To  find  me  out  1  "  echoed  Lorimer.  "  "Why,  what  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

She  nodded  her  bright  head  with  much  sagacity. 

"  Ah,  I  do  observe  you  often  !  There  is  something  you 
hide ;  it  is  like  when  my  father  has  tears  in  his  eyes  ;  he 
pretends  to  laugh,  but  the  tears  are  there  all  the  time.  Now 

I  see  in  you "  she  paused,  and  her  questioning  eyes 

rested  on  his,  seriously. 

"  This  is  interesting !  "  said  Lorimer,  lazily  drawing  a 
camp-stool  opposite  to  her,  and  seating  himself  thereon. 
"  I  had  no  idea  I  was  a  human  riddle.  Can  you  read  me, 
Miss  Giildmar  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  slowly  and  meditatively.  "  Just  a 
little.  But  I  will  not  say  anything;  no — except  this — 
that  you  are  not  altogether  what  you  seem." 

"  Here,  Phil  1  "  called  Lorimer,  as  he  saw  Errington  ap- 
proaching, arm  in  arm  with  Olaf  Giildmar,  "  come  and 
admire  this  young  lady's  power  of  perception.  She  declares 
I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  I  look  !  " 

"  Now,"  said  Thelma,  shaking  her  forefinger  at  him,"  you 
know  very  well  that  I  did  not  put  it  in  that  way.  But  is 

it  not  true,  Sir  Philip "  and  she  looked  up  for  a  moment, 

though  her  eyes  drooped  again  swiftly  under  his  ardent 
gaze,  "  is  it  not  true  that  many  people  do  hide  their  feel- 
ings, and  pretend  to  be  quite  different  tp_  what  they  are  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  it  was  a  very  common  fault,"  replied  Er- 
rington. "  It  is  a  means  of  self-defense  against  the  imper- 
tinent curiosity  of  outsiders.  But  Lorimer  is  free  from  it, 
— he  has  nothing  to  hide.  At  any  rate,  he  has  no  secrets 
from  me, — I'm  sure  of  that !"  And  he  clapped  his  hand 
heartily  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

Lorimer  flushed  slightly,  but  made  no  remark,  and  at  that 
moment  Macfarlane  emerged  from  the  saloon,  where  the 
writing  of  his  journal  had  till  now  detained  him.  In  the 
general  handshaking  and  salutations  which  followed,  the 
conversation  took  a  different  turn,  for  which  Lorimer  was 
devoutly  thankful.  His  face  was  a  tell-tale  one, — and  he 
was  rather  afraid  of  Philip's  keen  eyes.  "  I  hope  to  Heaven 
he'll  speak  to  her  to-day,"  he  thought,  vexedly.  "  I  hate 
being  in  suspense  1  My  mind  will  be  easier  when  I  once 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  161 

know  that  he  has  gained  his  point, — and  that  there's  not 
the  ghost  of  a  chance  for  any  other  fellow !  " 

Meanwhile  the  yacht  skimmed  along  by  the  barren  and 
rocky  coast  of  Sciland ;  the  sun  was  dazzling ;  yet  there 
was  a  mist  in  the  air  as  though  the  heavens  were  full  of 
unshed  tears.  A  bank  of  nearly  motionless  clouds  hung 
behind  the  dark,  sharp  peaks  of  the  Altenguard  mountains, 
which  now  lay  to  the  southward,  as  the  vessel  pursued  her 
course.  There  was  no  wind  ;  the  flag  on  the  mast  flapped 
idly  now  and  then  with  the  motion  of  the  yacht ;  and 
Thelma  found  herself  too  warm  with  her  pretty  crimson 
hood, — she  therefore  unfastened  it  and  let  the  sunshine 
play  on  the  uncovered  gold  of  her  hair.  They  had  a  superb 
view  of  the  jagged  glacier  of  Jedke, — black  in  some  parts, 
and  in  others  white  with  unmelted  snow, — and  seeming,  as  it 
rose  straight  up  against  the  sky,  to  be  the  majestic  mon- 
ument of  some  giant  Viking.  Presently,  at  her  earnest 
request,  Errington1  brought  his  portfolio  of  Norwegian 
sketches  for  Tkelma  to  look  at ;  most  of  them  were  ex- 
cellently well  done,  and  elicited  much  admiration  from  the 
bonde. 

"  It  is  what  I  have  wondered  at  all  my  life,"  said  he, 
"  that  skill  of  the  brush  dipped  in  color.  Pictures  sur- 
prise me  as  much  as  poems.  Ah,  men  are  marvellous 
creatures,  when  they  are  once  brought  to  understand  that 
they  are  men, — not  beasts  !  One  will  take  a  few  words  and 
harmonize  them  into  a  song  or  a  verse  that  clings  to  the 
world  for  ever ;  another  will  mix  a  few  paints  and  dab  a 
brush  in  them,  and  give  you  a  picture  that  generation  after 
generation  shall  flock  to  see.  It  is  what  is  called  genius, 
— and  genius  is  a  sort  of  miracle.  Yet  I  think  it  is  fos- 
tered by  climate  a  good  deal, — the  further  north,  the  less 
inspiration.  Warmth,  color,  and  the  lightness  of  heart  that 
a  generally  bright  sky  brings,  enlarges  the  brain  and  makes 
it  capable  of  creative  power." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Lorimer,  "  England  does  not  possess 
these  climatic  advantages,  and  yet  Shakespeare  was  an  Eng- 
lishman." 

"  lie  must  have  travelled,"  returned  Giildmar  positively. 
"  No  one  will  make  me  believe  that  the  man  never  visited 
Italy.  His  Italian  scenes  prove  it, — they  are  full  of  the 
place  and  the  people.  The  whole  of  his  works,  full  of  such 
wonderful  learning,  and  containing  so  many  t3rpes  of  differ- 
ent nations,  show,— to  my  mind.,  a.t  leastj-^i 

u 


162  THELMA. 

were  his  books  of  study.  Why  I,  who  am  only  a  fanner 
and  proprietor  of  a  bit  of  Norwegian  land, — I  have  learned 
many  a  thing  from  simply  taking  a  glance  at  a  new  shore 
each  year.  That's  the  way  I  used  to  amuse  inj-self  when 
I  was  j^oung, — now  I  am  old,  the  sea  tempts  me  less,  and  I 
am  fonder  of  my  arm-chair;  yet  I've  seen  a  good  deal  in 
my  time — enough  to  provide  me  with  memories  for  my  de- 
clining days.  And  it's  a  droll  thing,  too,"  he  added,  with 
a  laugh,  "  the  further  south  3rou  go,  the  more  immoral  and 
merry  are  the  people;  the  further  north,  the  more  virtuous 
and  miserable.  There's  a  wrong  balance  somewhere, — but 
where,  'tis  not  easy  to  find  out." 

"  Weel,"  said  Macfarlane,  "  I  can  give  ye  a  direct  contra- 
deection  to  your  theory.  Scotland  lies  to  the  north,  and 
ye'll  not  find  a  grander  harvest  o'  sinfu'  souls  ai^-where  be- 
tween this  an'  the  day  o'  judgment.  I'm  a  Scotchman,  an' 
I'm  just  proud  o'  my  country — I'd  back  its  men  against  a' 
the  human  race, — but  I  waclna  say  much  for  the  stabeelity 
o'  its  women.  I  wad  just  tak  to  my  heels  and  run  if  I  saw 
a  real,  thumpin',  red-cheeked,  big-boned  Scotch  lassie 
makin'  up  to  me.  There's  nae  bashfulness  in  they  sort,  and 
nae  safety." 

"  I  will  go  to  Scotland !  "  said  Duprez  enthusiastically. 
"  I  feel  that  those — what  do  you  call  them,  lassies? — will 
charm  me ! " 

"  Scotland  I  never  saw,"  said  Giildmar.  "  From  all  I  have 
heard,  it  seems  to  me  'twould  be  too  much  like  Norwa}r. 
After  one's  e3res  have  rested  long  on  these  dark  mountains 
and  glaciers,  one  likes  now  and  then  to  see  a  fertile  sun- 
shiny stretch  of  country  such  as  France,  or  the  plains  of 
Lombardy.  Of  course  there  may  be  exceptions,  but  I  tell 
you  climatic  influences  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the 
state  of  mind  and  morals.  Now,  take  the  example  of  that 
miserable  old  Lovisa  Elsland.  She  is  the  victim  of  relig- 
ious mania — and  religious  mania,  together  with  supersti- 
tion of  the  most  foolish  kind,  is  common  in  Norway.  It 
happens  often  during  the  long  winters  ;  the  people  have  not 
sufficient  to  occupy  their  minds ;  no  clergyman — not  even 
Dyceworthy — can  satisfy  the  height  of  their  fanaticism. 
They  preach  and  pray  and  shriek  and  groan  in  their  huts ; 
some  swear  that  they  have  the  spirit  of  prophecy, — others 
that  they  are  possessed  of  devils, — others  imagine  witch- 
craft, like  Lovisa — and  altogether  there  is  such  a  howling 
pn  tUe  naine  of  Chrjst,  that  I  am  glad  to  be  out  of  it, — for 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  163 

'tis  a  sight  to  awaken  the  laughter  and  contempt  of  a  pagan 
such  as  I  am !  " 

Thelma  listened  with  a  slight  shadow  of  pain  on  her 
features. 

"  Father  is  not  a  pagan,"  she  declared,  turning  to  Lori- 
mer.  "  How  can  one  be  pagan  if  one  believes  that  there  is 
good  in  everything, — and  that  nothing  happens  except  for 
the  best  ?  " 

"  It  sounds  to  me  more  Christian  than  pagan,"  averred 
Lorimer,  with  a  smile.  "  But  it's  no  use  appealing  to  me 
on  such  matters,  Miss  Giildmar.  I  am  an  advocate  of  the 
Law  of  Nothing.  I  remember  a  worthy  philosopher  who, 
— when  he  was  in  his  cups, — earnestly  assured  me  it  was 
all  right — '  everything  was  nothing,  and  nothing  was  every- 
thing.' 'You  are  sure  that  is  so?'  I  would  say  to  him. 
'  My  dear  young  friend — hie — I  am  positive !  I  have — hie 
— worked  out  the  problem  with — hie — care  ! '  And  he 
would  shake  me  by  the  hand  warmly,  with  a  mild  and  moist 
smile,  and  would  retire  to  bed  walking  sideways  in  the  most 
amiable  manner.  I'm  certain  his  ideas  were  correct  as  well 
as  luminous." 

They  laughed,  and  then  looking  up  saw  that  they  were 
passing  a  portion  of  the  coast  of  Seiland  which  was  more 
than  usually  picturesque.  Facing  them  was  a  great  cav- 
ernous cleft  in  the  rocks,  tinted  with  a  curious  violet  hue 
intermingled  with  bronze, — and  in  the  strong  sunlight 
these  colors  flashed  with  the  brillancy  of  jewels,  reflecting 
themselves  in  the  pale  slate-colored  sea.  By  Errington's 
orders  the  yacht  slackened  speed,  and  glided  along  with  an 
almost  noiseless  motion, — and  they  were  silent,  listening  to 
the  dash  and  drip  of  water  that  fell  invisibly  from  the  top- 
pling crags  that  frowned  above,  while  the  breathless  heat 
and  stillness  of  the  air  added  to  the  weird  solemnity  of  the 
scene.  They  all  rose  from  their  chairs  and  leaned  on  the 
deck-rails,  looking,  but  uttering  no  word. 

"  In  one  of  these  islands,"  said  Thelma  at  last,  very  softly 
— "  it  was  either  Seiland  or  Soroe — they  once  found  the 
tomb  of  a  great  chief.  There  was  an  inscription  outside 
that  warned  all  men  to  respect  it,  but  they  laughed  at  the 
warning  and  opened  the  tomb.  And  they  saw,  seated  in  a 
stone  chair,  a  skeleton  with  a  gold  crown  on  its  head  and  a 
great  carved  seal  in  its  hand,  and  at  its  feet  there  was  a 
stone  casket.  The  casket  was  broken  open,  and  it  was  full 
of  gold  and  jewels,  Well,  they  took  all  tUe  gold 


164  THELMA. 

jewels,  and  buiied  the  skeleton — and  now, — do  you  know 
what  happens  ?  At  midnight  a  number  of  strange  persons 
are  seen  searching  on  the  shore  and  among  the  rocks  for 
the  lost  treasure,  and  it  is  said  they  often  utter  cries  of 
anger  and  despair.  And  those  who  robbed  the  tomb  all 
died  suddenly." 

"  Served  them  right !  "  said  Lorimer.  "  And  now  the}' 
are  dead,  I  suppose  the  wronged  ghosts  don't  appear  any 
more  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  they  do,"  said  Giildraar  very  seriously.  "  If 
any  sailor  msses  at  midnight,  and  sees  them  or  hears  their 
cries,  he  is  doomed." 

"  But  does  he  see  or  hear  them  ?  "  asked  Errington,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Giildmar,  with  a  grave 
shake  of  his  head.  "  I'm  not  superstitious  myself,  but  I 
should  be  sorry  to  say  airything  against  the  berg-folk.  You 
see  they  may  exist,  and  it's  no  use  offending  them." 

"  And  what  do  ye  mean  by  the  berg-folk  ? "  inquired 
Macfarlane. 

"  They  are  supposed  to  be  the  souls  of  persons  who  died 
impenitent,"  said  Thelma,  "  and  they  are  doomed  to  wan- 
der on  the  hills  till  the  day  of  judgment.  It  is  a  sort  of 
purgatory." 

Duprez  shook  his  fingers  emphatically  in  the  air. 

"  Ah,  bah  !  "  he  said  ;  "  what  droll  things  remain  still  in 
the  world !  Yes,  in  spite  of  liberty,  equality,  fraternity  ! 
You  do  not  believe  in  foolish  legends,  Mademoiselle  ?  For 
example, — do  you  think  you  will  suffer  purgatory?  " 

"  Indeed  yes !  "  she  replied.  "  No  one  can  be  good  enough 
to  go  straight  to  heaven.  There  must  be  some  little  stop  on 
the  way  in  which  to  be  sorry  for  all  the  bad  things  one  has 
done." 

"  Tis  the  same  idea  as  ours,"  said  Giildmar.  "  "We  have 
two  places  of  punishment  in  the  Norse  faith  ;  one,  Nifle- 
heim,  which  is  a  temporary  thing  like  the  Catholic  purga- 
tory; the  other  Naxtrond,  which  is  the  counterpart  of  the 
Christian  hell.  Know  you  not  the  description  of  N\fle- 
heim  in  the  Edda  ? — 'tis  terrible  enough  to  satisfy  all 
tastes.  'Held,  or  Death  rules  over  the  Nine  Worlds  of 
Nifleheim.  Her  hall  is  called  Grief.  Famine  is  her  table, 
and  her  only  servant  is  Delay.  Her  gate  is  a  precipice,  her 
porch  Faintness,  her  bed  Leanness, — Cursing  and  Howling 
are  fcer  tent.  Her  glance  is  dreadful  and  terrifying, — auS 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN1.  165 

her  lips  are  blue  with  the  venom  of  Hatred.'  These  words," 
he  added,  "  sound  finer  in  Norwegian,  but  I  have  given  the 
meaning  fairly." 

"  Ma  certes  !  "  said  Macfarlnne  chuckling.  u  I'll  tell  my 
aunt  in  Glasgie  aboot  it.  This  Nifleheim  wad  suit  her 
pairfectly, — she  wad  send  a'  her  relations  there  wi'  tourist 
tickets,  not  available  for  the  return  journey  !  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  observed  Errington,  "  that  the  Nine 
Worlds  of  Nifleheim  have  a  resemblance  to  the  different 
circles  of  Dante's  Purgatory." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Lorimer.  "  All  religions  seem  to  me 
to  be  more  or  less  the  same, — the  question  /  can  never  set- 
tle is, — which  is  the  right  one  ?  " 

"  Would  you  follow  it  if  you  knew?"  asked  Thelma,  with 
a  slight  smile.  Lorimer  laughed. 

"  Well,  upon  my  life,  I  don't  know ! "  he  answered 
frankly,  "  I  never  was  a  praying  sort  of  fellow, — I  don't 
seem  to  grasp  the  idea  of  it  somehow.  But  there's  one 
thing  I'm  certain  of, — I  can't  endure  a  bird  without  song, 
— a  flower  without  scent,  or  a  woman  without  religion — she 
seems  to  me  no  woman  at  all." 

"  But  are  there  any  such  women  ?  "  inquired  the  girj 
surprised. 

"  Yes,  there  are  undoubtedly  !  Free-thinking,  stump- 
orator,  have-3Tour-rights  sort  of  creatures.  You  don't  know 
anything  about  them,  Miss  Guldmar — be  thankful !  Now, 
Phil,  how  long  is  this  vessel  of  y ours  going  to  linger  here?" 

Thus  reminded,  Errington  called  to  the  pilot,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  Eulalie  resumed  her  usual  speed,  and  bore 
swiftly  on  towards  Soroe.  This  island,  drcaiy  and  dark  in 
the  distance,  grew  somewhat  more  inviting  in  aspect  on  a 
nearer  approach.  Now  and  then  a  shaft  of  sunlight  fell  on 
some  glittering  point  of  felspar  or  green  patch  of  verdure, 
— and  Valdemar  Svensen  stated  that  he  knew  of  a  sandy 
creek  where,  if  the  party  chose,  they  could  land  and  see  a 
small  cave  of  exquisite  beauty,  literally  hung  all  over  with 
stalactites. 

"  I  never  heard  of  this  cave,"  said  Giildmar,  fixing  a  keen 
eye  on  the  pilot.  "  Art  thou  a  traveller's  guide  to  all  such 
places  in  Norway  ?  " 

Somewhat  to  Errington's  surprise,  Svensen  changed  color 
and  appeared  confused  ;  moreover,  he  removed  his  red  cap 
altogether  when  he  answered  the  bonde,  to  whom  he  spoke 
deferentially  in  rapid  Norwegian.  The  old  man  laughed  as 


166  THELMA. 

he  listened,  and  seemed  satisfied ;  then,  turning  away,  he 
linked  his  arm  through  Philip's,  and  said, 

"  You  must  pardon  him,  my  lad,  that  he  spoke  in  your 
presence  a  tongue  unfamiliar  to  }TOU.  No  offense  was 
meant.  He  is  of  my  creed,  but  fears  to  make  it  known,  lest 
he  should  lose  all  eraploj'ment — which  is  likely  enough, 
seeing  that  so  maity  of  the  people  are  fanatics.  Moreover, 
he  is  bound  to  me  by  an  oath, — which  in  olden  days  would 
have  made  him  my  serf, — but  which  leaves  him  free  enough 
just  now, — with  one  exception." 

"  And  that  exception  ?  "  asked  Errington  with  some  in. 
terest. 

"  Is,  that  should  I  ever  demand  a  certain  service  at  his 
hands,  he  dare  not  refuse  it.  Odd,  isn't  it?  or  so  it  seems 
to  you"  and  Guldmar  pressed  the  young  man's  arm  lightly 
and  kindly ;  "  but  our  Norse  oaths,  are  taken  with  great 
solemnit}',  and  are  as  binding  as  the  obligation  of  death  it- 
self. However,  I  have  not  commanded  Valdemar's  obe- 
dience yet,  nor  do  I  think  I  am  likel}'  to  do  so  for  some 
time.  He  is  a  fine,  faithful  fellow, — though  too  much  given 
to  dreams." 

A  gay  chorus  of  laughter  here  broke  from  the  little  group 
seated  on  deck,  of  which  Thelma  was  the  centre, — and 
Guldmar  stopped  in  his  walk,  with  an  attentive  smile  on 
his  open,  ruddy  countenance. 

"  'Tis  good  for  the  heart  to  hear  the  merriment  of  young 
folks,"  he  said.  "  Think  you  not  my  girl's  laugh  is  like 
the  ripple  of  a  lark's  song?  just  so  clear  and  joyous?  " 

"  Her  voice  is  music  itself  1 "  declared  Philip  quickly  and 
warmly.  "  There  is  nothing  she  says,  or  does,  or  looks, — 
that  is  not  absolutely  beautiful  1  " 

Then,  suddenly  aware  of  his  precipitation,  he  stopped 
abruptly.  His  face  flushed  as  Guldmar  regarded  him 
fixedly,  with  a  musing  and  doubtful  air.  But  whatever  the 
old  man  thought,  he  said  nothing.  He  merely  held  the 
young  baronet's  arm  a  little  closer,  and  together  they 
joined  the  others, — though  it  was  noticeable  that  during 
the  rest  of  the  day  the  bonde  was  rather  abstracted  and 
serious, — and  that  every  now  and  then  his  eyes  rested  on 
his  daughter's  face  with  an  expression  of  tender  yearning 
and  melancholy. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  luncheon  that  the  Eulahe 
approached  the  creek  spoken  ofby  the  pilot,  and  the}'  were 
all  lascinated  by  the  loveliness  as  well  as  by  the  fierce 


TEE  LAND  OP  THE  MIDNIGST  SUN.  167 

grandeur  of  the  scene.  The  rocks  on  that  portion  of  Sorb'e 
appeared  to  have  split  violently  asunder  to  admit  some 
great  in-rushing  passage  of  the  sea,  and  were  piled  up  in 
toppling  terraces  to  the  height  of  more  than  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  water.  Beneath  these  wild  and 
craggy  fortresses  of  nature  a  shining  stretch  of  beach  had 
formed  itself,  on  which  the  fine  white  sand,  mixed  with 
crushed  felspar,  sparkled  like  powdered  silver.  On  the  left- 
hand  side  of  this  beach  could  be  distinctly  seen  the  round 
opening  of  the  cavern  to  which  Valdemar  Svensen  directed 
their  attention.  They  ^decided  to  visit  it — the  yacht  was 
brought  to  a  standstill,  and  the  long-boat  lowered.  They 
took  no  sailors  with  them,  Errington  and  his  companions 
rowing  four  oars,  while  Thelma  and  her  father  occupied  the 
stern.  A  landing  was  easily  effected,  and  they  walked  to- 
ward the  cavern,  treading  on  thousands  of  beautiful  little 
shells  which  strewed  the  sand  beneath  their  feet.  There 
was  a  deep  stillness  everywhere — the  island  was  so  desolate 
that  it  seemed  as  though  the  very  sea-birds  refused  to 
make  their  homes  in  the  black  clefts  of  such  steep  and  bar- 
ren rocks. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  little  cave  Giildmar  looked  back 
to  the  sea. 

"There's  a  storm  coming!"  he  announced.  "Those 
clouds  we  saw  this  morning  have  sailed  thither  almost  as 
quickly  as  ourselves!" 

The  sky  had  indeed  grown  darker,  and  little  wrinkling 
waves  disturbed  the  surface  of  the  water.  But  the  sun  as 
yet  retained  his  sovereignty,  and  there  was  no  wind.  By 
the  pilot's  advice,  Erringtou  and  his  friends  had  provided 
themselves  each  with  a  pine  torch,  in  order  to  light  up  the 
cavern  as  soon  as  they  found  themselves  within  it.  The 
smoky  crimson  flare  illuminated  what  seemed  at  a  first 
glance  to  be  a  miniature  fairy  palace  studded  thickly  with 
clusters  of  diamonds.  Long  pointed  stalactites  hung  from 
the  roof  at  almost  mathematically  even  distances  from  one 
another, — the  walls  glistened  with  varying  shades  of  pink 
and  green  and  violet, — and  in  the  very  midst  of  the  cave 
was  a  still  pool  of  water  in  which  all  the  fantastic  forms 
and  hues  of  the  place  mirrored  themselves  in  miniature. 
In  one  corner  the  stalactites  had  clustered  into  the  shape  of 
a  large  chair  overhung  by  a  canopy,  and  Duprez  perceiving 
it,  exclaimed — 


168  THELMA. 

"  Voild  !  A  queen's  throne  !  Come,  Mademoiselle  Giild 
mar,  you  must  sit  in  it !  " 

"  But  I  am  not  a  queen,"  laughed  Thelma.  "  A  throne  is 
for  a  king,  also — will  not  Sir  Philip  sit  there  'r  " 

"  There's  a  compliment  for  }rou,  Phil  1 "  cried  Lorimer, 
waving  his  torch  enthusiastically.  "  Let  us  awaken  the 
echoes  with  the  shout  of  '  Long  live  the  King!' ' 

But  Errington  approached  Thelma,  and  taking  her  hand 
in  his,  said  gently — 

"  Come  1  let  me  see  you  throned  in  state,  Queen  Thelma ' 
To  please  me, — come !  "  f 

She  looked  up — the  flame  of  the  bright  torch  he  carried 
illumined  his  face,  on  which  love  had  written  what  she  could 
not  fail  to  read, — but  she  trembled  as  with  cold,  and  there 
was  a  kind  of  appealing  wonder  in  her  troubled  eyes.  He 
drew  closer,  and  pressed  her  hand  more  tightly  ;  again  he 
whispered,  "  Come,  Queen  Thelma  !  "  As  in  a  dream,  she 
allowed  him  to  lead  her  to  the  stalactite  chair,  and  when 
she  was  seated  therein,  she  endeavored  to  control  the  rapid 
beating  of  her  heart,  and  to  smile  unconcernedly  on  the  lit- 
tle group  that  surrounded  her  with  shouts  of  mingled  mirth 
and  admiration. 

"  Ye  just  look  fine  1  "  said  Macfarlane  with  undisguised 
delight.  "  Ye'd  mak'  a  grand  picture,  wouldn't  she,  Erring- 
ton  ?  " 

Philip  gazed  at  her,  but  said  nothing — his  heart  was  too 
full.  Sitting  there  among  the  glittering,  intertwisted,  and 
suspended  rocky, — with  the  blaze  from  the  torches  flashing 
on  her  winsome  face  and  luxuriant  hair, — with  that  half- 
troubled,  half-happy  look  in  her  eyes,  and  an  uncertain 
shadowy  smile  quivering  on  her  sweet  lips,  the  girl  looked 
almost  dangerously  lovely, — Helen  of  Troy  could  scarce 
have  fired  more  passionate  emotion  among  the  old-world 
heroes  than  she  unconsciously  excited  at  that  moment  in 
the  minds  of  all  who  beheld  her.  Duprez  for  once  under- 
stood what  it  was  to  reverence  a  woman's  beauty,  and  de- 
cided that  the  flippant  language  of  compliment  was  out  of 
place — he  therefore  said  nothing,  and  Lorimer,  too,  was  si- 
lent, battling  bravely  against  wild  desires  that  were  now, 
in  his  opinion,  nothing  but  disloyalty  to  his  friend.  Old 
Giildmar's  hearty  voice  aroused  and  startled  them  all. 

"  Now  Thelma,  child  !  If  thou  art  a  queen,  give  orders 
to-  these  lads  to  be  moving  I  'Tis  a  damp  place  to  hold  a 
court  in,  and  thy  throne  must  needs  be  a  cold  one.  Let  us 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  169 

out  to  the  blessed  sunshine  again — maybe  we  can  climb  one 
of  yon  wild  rocks  and  get  a  view  worth  seeing." 

"  All  right,  sir  !  "  said  Lorimer,  chivalrously  resolving 
that  now  Errington  should  have  a  chance.  "  Come  on, 
Mac  !  Allans,  marchons, — Pierre !  Mr.  Guldmar  exacts 
our  obedience  !  Phil,  you  take  care  of  the  queen ! " 

And  skillfully  pushing  on  Duprez  and  Macfarlane  before 
him,  he  followed  Guldmar,  who  preceded  them  all, — thus 
leaving  his  friend  in  a  momentary  comparative  solitude 
with  Thelma.  The  girl  was  a  little  startled  as  she  saw 
them  thus  taking  their  departure,  and  sprang  up  from  her 
stalactite  throne  in  haste.  Sir  Philip  had  laid  aside  his 
torch  in  order  to  assist  her  with  both  hands  to  descend  the 
sloping  rocks  ;  but  her  embarrassment  at  being  left  almost 
alone  with  him  made  her  nervous  and  uncertain  of  foot, — 
she  was  hurried  and  agitated  and  anxious  to  overtake  the 
others,  and  in  trying  to  walk  quickly  she  slipped  and  nearly 
fell.  In  one  second  she  was  caught  in  his  arms  and  clasped 
passionatel}'  to  his  heart. 

"  Thelma !  Thelma !  "  he  whispered,  "  I  love  you,  my 
darling — I  love  you  1 " 

She  trembled  in  his  strong  embrace,  and  strove  to  release 
herself,  but  he  pressed  her  more  closely  to  him,  scarcely 
knowing  that  he  did  so,  but  feeling  that  he  held  the  world, 
life,  time,  happiness,  and  salvation  in  this  one  fair  creature. 
His  brain  was  in  a  wild  whirl — the  glitter  of  the  stalactite 
cave  turned  to  a  gyrating  wheel  of  jewel-work,  there  was 
nothing  any  more — no  universe,  no  existence — nothing  but 
love,  love,  love,  beating  strong  hammer-strokes  through 
every  fibre  of  his  frame.  He  glanced  up,  and  saw  that  the 
slowly  retreating  forms  of  his  friends  had  nearly  reached 
the  outer  opening  of  the  cavern.  Once  there,  they  would 
look  back  and 

"  Quick,  Thelma ! "  and  his  warm  breath  touched  her 
cheek.  "  My  darling  !  my  love  !  if  you  are  not  angry, — 
kiss  me !  I  shall  understand." 

She  hesitated.  To  Philip  that  instant  of  hesitation 
seemed  a  cycle  of  slow  revolving  years.  Timidly  she  lifted 
her  head.  She  was  very  pale,  and  her  breath  came  and 
went  quickly.  He  gazed  at  her  in  speechless  suspense, — 
and  saw  as  in  a  vision  the  pure  radiance  of  her  face  and 
star-like  eyes  shining  more  and  more  closely  upon  him. 
Then  came  a  touch, — soft  and  sweet  as  a  roseleaf  pressed 
against  his  lips, — and  for  one  mad  moment  he  remembered. 


170  THELHA. 

nothing, — he  was  caught  up  like  Homer's  Paris  in  a  cloud 
of  gold,  and  knew  not  which  was  earth  or  heaven. 

"  You  love  me,  Thelma  ? "  he  murmured  in  a  sort  of 
wondering  rapture.  "  I  cannot  believe  it,  sweet !  Tell  me 
— you  love  me  ? " 

She  looked  up.  A  new,  unspeakable  glory  flushed  her 
face,  and  her  eyes  glowed  with  the  mute  eloquence  of  awak- 
ening passion. 

"  Love  you  ?  "  she  said  in  a  voice  so  low  and  sweet  that 
it  might  have  been  the  whisper  of  a  passing  fairy.  "  Ah, 
yes  !  more  than  my  life  1 " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"Sweet  hands,  sweet  hair,  sweet  cheeks,  sweet  eyes,  sweet  mouth  ; 
Each  singly  wooed  and  won  !  " 

DANTE  RossETfi. 

"  HILLO,  ho !  "  shouted  Giildmar  vociferously,  peering 
back  into  the  shadows  of  the  cavern  from  whence  the 
figures  of  his  daughter  and  Errington  were  seen  presently 
emerging.  "Why,  what  kept  you  so  long,  my  lad  ?  We 
thought  you  were  close  behind  us.  Where's  your  torch  ?  " 

"  It  went  out,"  replied  Philip  promptly,  as  he  assisted 
Theima  with  grave  and  ceremonious  politeness  to  cross 
over  some  rough  stones  at  the  entrance,  "  and  we  had  some 
trouble  to  find  our  way." 

"  Ye  might  hae  called  to  us  i'  the  way  o'  friendship,"  ob- 
served Macfarlane  somewhat  suspiciously,  "  and  we  wad 
hae  lighted  ye  through." 

"  Oh,  it  was  no  matter  !  "  said  Thelma,  with  a  charming 
smile.  "  Sir  Philip  seemed  well  to  know  the  way,  and  it 
was  not  so  very  dark !  " 

Loriiner  glanced  at  her  and  read  plainly  all  that  was 
written  in  her  happy  face.  His  heart  sank  a  little ;  but, 
noticing  that  the  old  bonde  was  studying  his  daughter  with 
a  slight  air  of  vexation  and  surprise,  he  loyally  determined 
to  divert  the  general  attention  from  her  bright  blushes  and 
too  brilliantly  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Well !  .  .  .  here  you  both  are,  at  any  rate,"  he  said 
lightly,  "  and  I  should  strongly  advise  that  we  attempt  no 
more  exploration  of  the  island  of  Sortie  to-day.  Look  at 
the  sky  ;  and  just  now  there  was  a  clap  of  thunder." 

"  Thunder  ?  "  exclaimed  Errington.    "  I  never  heard  it  1 " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  171 

"  I  dare  say  not ! "  said  Lorimer,  with  a  quiet  smile. 
"  Still  we  heard  it  pretty  distinctly,  and  I  think  we'd  better 
make  for  the  yacht." 

"  All  right !  "  and  Sir  Philip  sprang  gaily  into  the  long- 
boat to  arrange  the  cushions  in  the  stern  for  Thelma.  Never 
had  he  looked  handsomer  or  more  high-spirited,  and  his 
elation  was  noticed  by  all  his  companions. 

"  Something  joyous  has  happened  to  our  Phil-eep,"  said 
Duprez  in  a  half-whisper.  "  He  is  in  the  air  1  " 

"  And  something  in  the  ither  way  has  happened  vera  sud- 
denly to  Mr.  Giildmar,"  returned  Macfarlane.  "  Th'  auld 
man  is  in  the  dumps." 

The  bonders  face  in  truth  looked  sad  and  somewhat  stern. 
He  scarcely  spoke  at  all  as  he  took  his  place  in  the  boat 
beside  his  daughter, — once  he  raised  her  little  hand,  looked 
at  t,  and  kissed  it  fondly. 

They  were  all  soon  on  their  way  back  to  th3  Eulalie, 
over  a  sea  that  had  grown  rough  and  white-crested  during 
their  visit  to  the  stalactite  cave.  Clouds  had  gathered 
thickly  over  the  sky,  and  though  a  few  shafts  of  sunlight 
still  forced  a  passage  through  them,  the  threatening  dark- 
ness spread  with  steady  persistency,  especially  to  the 
northern  side  of  the  horizon,  where  Storm  hovered  in  the 
shape  of  a  black  wing  edged  with  coppery  crimson.  As 
they  reached  the  yacht  a  silver  glare  of  lightning  sprang 
forth  from  beneath  this  sable  pinion,  and  a  few  large 
drops  of  rain  began  to  fall.  Errington  hurried  Thelma  on 
deck  and  down  into  the  saloon.  His  friends,  with  Giildmar, 
followed, — and  the  vessel  was  soon  plunging  through  waves 
of  no  small  height  on  her  way  back  to  the  Altenfjord.  A 
loud  peal  of  thunder  like  a  salvo  of  artillery  accompanied 
their  departure  from  Soroe,  and  Thelma  shivered  a  little  as 
she  heard  it. 

"  You  are  nervous,  Mademoiselle  Giildmar  ?  "  asked  Du- 
prez, noticing  her  tremor. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered  brightly.  "  Nervous  ?  That  is 
to  be  afraid, — I  am  not  afraid  of  a  storm,  but  I  do  not  like 
it.  It  is  a  cruel,  fierce  thing ;  and  I  should  have  wished 
to-day  to  be  all  sunshine — all  gladness !  "  She  paused,  and 
her  eyes  grew  soft  and  humid. 

"  Then  you  have  been  happy  to-day  ?  "  said  Lorimer  in  a 
low  and  very  gentle  voice. 

She  smiled  up  at  him  from  the  depths  of  the  velvet 
lounge  in  which  Errington  had  placed  her. 


172  THELMA. 

"  Happy  ?  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  been  so  happy  be« 
fore  1  "  She  paused,  and  a  bright  blush  crimsoned  her 
cheeks ;  then,  seeing  the  piano  open,  she  said  suddenly, 
"  Shall  I  sing  to  you  ?  or  perhaps  you  are  all  tired,  and 
would  rather  rest  ? " 

"  Music  is  rest,"  said  Lorimer  rather  dreamily,  watching 
her  as  she  rose  from  her  seat, — a  tall,  supple,  lithe  figure, 
— and  moved  towards  the  instrument.  "  And  your  voice, 
Miss  Guldmar,  would  soothe  the  most  weary  soul  that  ever 
dwelt  in  clay." 

She  glanced  round  at  him,  surprised  at  his  sad  tone. 

'*  Ah,  you  are  very,  very  tired,  Mr.  Lorimer,  I  am  sure  ! 
I  will  sing  you  a  Norse  cradle-song  to  make  you  go  to 
sleep.  You  will  not  understand  the  words  though — will 
that  matter  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least ! "  answered  Lorimer,  with  a  smile. 
"  The  London  girls  sing  in  German,  Italian,  Spanish,  and 
English.  Nobody  knows  what  they  are  saying :  they 
scarcely  know  themselves — but  it's  all  right,  and  quite 
fashionable." 

Thelma  laughed  gaily.  "  How  funny  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  is  to  amuse  people,  I  suppose  !  Well, — now  listen." 
And,  playing  a  soft  prelude,  her  rich  contralto  rippled  forth 
in  a  tender,  passionate,  melancholy  melody, — so  sweet  and 
heart-penetrating  that  the  practical  Macfarlane  sat  as  one 
in  a  dream, — Duprez  forgot  to  finish  making  the  cigarette 
he  was  daintily  manipulating  between  his  fingers,  and 
Lorimer  had  much  ado  to  keep  tears  from  his  e3Tes.  From 
one  song  she  glided  to  another  and  yet  another  ;  her  soul 
seemed  possessed  by  the  very  spirit  of  music.  Meanwhile 
Erringtpn,  in  obedience  to  an  imperative  sign  from  old 
Guldmar,  left  the  saloon  with  him, — once  outside  the  door, 
the  bonde  said  in  a  somewhat  agitated  voice — 

"  I  desire  to  speak  to  you,  Sir  Philip,  alone  and  undis- 
turbed, if  such  a  thing  be  possible." 

'•  By  all  means  !  "  answered  Philip.  "  Come  to  my  '  den  ' 
on  deck.  We  shall  be  quite  solitar}-  there." 

He  led  the  way,  and  Olaf  Guldmar  followed  him  in 
silence. 

It  was  raining  fiercel}7,  and  the  waves,  green  towers  of 
strength,  broke  every  now  and  then  over  the  sides  of  the 
yacht  with  a  hissing  shower  of  salt  white  spray.  The 
thunder  rolled  along  the  sky  in  angry  reverberating  echoes, 
— frequent  flashes  of  lightning  leaped  out  like  swords 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUtf.  173 

drawn  from  dark  scabbards, — yet  towards  the  south  the 
sky  was  clearing,  and  arrowy  beams  of  pale  gold  fell  from 
the  hidden  sun,  with  a  soothing  and  soft  lustre  on  the  breast 
of  the  troubled  water. 

Giildmar  looked  about  him,  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  re- 
freshment. His  eyes  rested  lovingly  on  the  tumbling  bil- 
lows,— he  bared  his  white  head  to  the  wind  and  ram. 

"  This  is  the  life,  the  blood,  the  heart  of  a  man !  "  he 
said,  while  a  sort  of  fierce  delight  shone  in  his  keen  eyes. 
"  To  battle  with  the  tempest, — to  laugh  at  the  wrath  of 
waters, — to  set  one's  face  against  the  wild  wind, — to  sport 
with  the  elements  as  though  they  were  children  or  serfs, — 
this  is  the  joy  of  manhood  I  A  joy,"  he  added  slowly, 
"  that  few  so-called  men  of  to-day  can  ever  feel." 

Errington  smiled  gravely.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right,  sir," 
he  said ;  "  but  perhaps,  at  the  same  time,  you  forget  that 
life  has  grown  very  bitter  to  all  of  us  during  the  last  hun- 
dred years  or  so.  Maybe  the  world  is  getting  old  and  used 
up,  maybe  the  fault  is  in  ourselves, — but  it  is  certain  that 
none  of  us  nowadays  are  particularly  happy,  except  at  rare 
intervals  when " 

At  that  moment,  in  a  lull  of  the  storm,  Thelma's  voice 
pealed  upwards  from  the  saloon.  She  was  singing  a  French 
song,  and  the  refrain  rang  out  clearly — 

"  Ah  !  le  doux  son  d'un  baiser  tendre  !  " 

Errington  paused  abruptly  in  his  speech,  and  turning 
towards  a  little  closed  and  covered  place  on  deck  which 
was  half  cabin,  half  smoking-room,  and  which  he  kept  as 
his  own  private  sanctum,  he  unlocked  it,  saying — 

"  Will  you  come  in  here,  sir  ?  It's  not  very  spacious, 
but  I  think  it's  just  the  place  for  a  chat, — especially  a 
private  one." 

Giildmar  entered,  but  did  not  sit  down, — Errington  shut 
the  door  against  the  rain  and  beating  spray  and  also  re- 
mained standing.  After  a  pause,  during  which  the  bonde 
seemed  struggling  with  some  inward  emotion,  he  said  reso- 
lutely— 

"  Sir  Philip,  you  are  a  young  man,  and  I  am  an  old  one. 
I  would  not  willingly  offend  you — for  I  like  you — yes  1  " 
And  the  old  man  looked  up  frankly  :  "  I  like  you  enough 
to  respect  you — which  is  more  than  I  can  say  to  many  men 
I  have  known  !  But  I  have  a  weight  on  my  heart  tluit 
must  be  lifted.  You  and  my  child  have  been  much  to- 


1?4  TBELMA. 

gether  for  many  days, — and  I  was  an  old  fool  not  to  have 
foreseen  the  influence  your  companionship  might  have  upon 
her.  I  may  be  mistaken  in  the  idea  that  has  taken  hold  of 
me — some  wild  words  let  fall  by  the  poor  boy  Sigurd  this 
morning,  when  he  entreated  my  pardon  for  his  misconduct 
of  yesterday,  have  perhaps  misled  my  judgment, — but — 
by  the  gods  !  I  cannot  put  it  into  suitable  words  !  I — 

"  You  think  I  love  your  daughter  ? "  said  Sir  Philip 
quietly.  "  You  are  not  mistaken,  Sir  1  I  love  her  with  my 
whole  heart  and  soul  I  I  want  you  to  give  her  to  me  as  my 
wife." 

A  change  passed  over  the  old  farmer's  face.  He  grew 
deathly  pale,  and  put  out  one  hand  feebly  as  though  to  seek 
some  support.  Errington  caught  it  in  his  own  and  pressed 
it  hard. 

"  Surely  you  are  not  surprised,  Sir  ? "  he  added  with 
eagerness.  "  How  can  I  help  loving  her !  She  is  the  best 
and  loveliest  girl  I  have  ever  seen  1  Believe  me, — I  would 
make  her  happy  !  " 

"  And  have  you  thought,  young  man,"  returned  Guldmar 
slowly,  "  that  you  would  make  me  desolate  ? — or,  thinking 
it,  have  you  cared  ?  " 

There  was  an  infinite  pathos  in  his  voice,  and  Errington 
was  touched  and  silent.  He  found  no  answer  to  this  re- 
proach. Guldmar  sat  down,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand. 

"  Let  me  think  a  little,"  he  said.  "  My  mind  is  confused 
a  bit.  I  was  not  prepared  for " 

He  paused  and  seemed  lost  in  sorrowful  meditation.  By- 
and-by  he  looked  up,  and  meeting  Errington's  anxious 
gaze,  he  broke  into  a  short  laugh. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  my  lad !  "  he  said  sturdily.  "  "Tis  a 
blow,  you  see  !  I  had  not  thought  so  far  as  this.  I'll  tell 
you  the  plain  truth,  and  you  must  forgive  me  for  wronging 
you.  I  know  what  young  blood  is,  all  the  world  over.  A 
fair  face  fires  it — and  impulse  makes  it  gallop  beyond  con- 
trol. 'Twas  so  with  me  when  I  was  your  age, — though  no 
woman,  I  hope,  was  ever  the  worse  for  my  harmless  love- 
making.  But  Thelnia  is  different  from  most  women, — she 
has  a  strange  nature, — moreover,  she  has  a  heart  and  a 
memory, — if  she  once  learns  the  meaning  of  love,  she  will 
never  unlearn  the  lesson.  Now,  I  thought,  that  like  most 
young  men  of  your  t3'pe,3rou  might,  without  meaning  any 
actual  evil,  trifle  with  her — play  with  her  feelings — 

"  I  understand,  Sir,"  said  Philip  coolly,  without  display- 


TSE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  176 

ing  any  offense.  "  To  put  it  plainly,  in  spite  of  your  liking 
for  me,  you  thought  me  a  snob." 

This  time  the  old  man  laughed  heartily  and  unforcedly. 

"  Dear,  dear  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  are  what  is  termed 
in  your  own  land,  a  peppery  customer !  Nevermind — I 
like  it.  Why,  my  lad,  the  men  of  to-day  think  it  fair  sport 
to  trifle  with  a  pretty  woman  now  and  then " 

"  Pardon  !  "  interrupted  Philip  curtly.  "  I  must  defend 
my  sex.  We  may  occasionally  trifle  with  those  women  who 
show  us  that  they  wish  to  be  trifled  with — but  never  with 
those  who,  like  your  daughter,  win  every  man's  respect  and 
reverence." 

Giildmar  rose  and  grasped  his  hand  fervently. 

"  By  all  the  gods,  I  believe  you  are  a  true  gentleman !  " 
he  said.  "  I  ask  your  pardon  if  I  have  offended  you  by  so 
much  as  a  thought.  But  now" — and  his  face  grew  very 
serious — "  we  must  talk  this  matter  over.  I  will  not  speak 
of  the  suddenness  of  your  love  for  my  child,  because  I 
know,  from  my  own  past  experience,  that  love  is  a  rapid 
impulse — a  flame  ignited  in  a  moment.  Yes,  I  know  that 
well !  "  He  paused,  and  his  voice  trembled  a  little,  but  he 
soon  steadied  it  and  went  on — "  I  think,  however,  my  lad, 
that  you  have  been  a  little  hasty, — for  instance,  have  you 
thought  what  your  English  friends  and  relatives  will  say  to 
your  marrying  a  farmer's  daughter  who, — though  she  has 
the  blood  of  kings  in  her  veins, — is,  nevertheless,  as  this 
present  world  would  judge,  beneath  you  in  social  standing  ? 
I  say,  have  you  thought  of  this  ?  " 

Philip  smiled  proudly.  "  Certainly,  sir,  I  have  not 
thought  of  any  such  trifle  as  the  opinion  of  society, — if  that 
is  what  you  mean.  I  have  no  relatives  to  please  or  dis- 
please— no  friends  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  world  except 
Lorimer,  I  have  a  long  list  of  acquaintances  undoubtedly, 
— infinite  bores,  most  of  them, — and  whether  they  approve 
or  disapprove  of  my  actions  is  to  me  a  matter  of  profound 
indifference." 

"  See  you  1 "  said  the  bonde  firmly  and  earnestly.  "  It 
would  be  an  ill  day  for  me  if  I  gave  my  little  one  to  a 
husband  who  might — mind !  I  only  say  might, — in  the  course 
of  years,  regret  having  married  her." 

"  Regret !  "  cried  Philip  excitedly,  then  quieting  down, 
he  said  gently.  "  My  good  friend,  I  do  not  think  you  un- 
derstand me.  You  talk  as  if  Thelma  were  beneath  me. 
Good  God  1  It  is  /  who  am  infinitely  beneath  her  !  I  ana 


176  THELMA. 

utterly  unworthy  of  her  in  every  wa}',  I  assure  you — and  I 
tell  you  so  frankly.  I  have  led  a  useless  life,  and  a  more  or 
less  selfish  one.  I  have  principally  sought  to  amuse  and  in- 
terest myself  all  through  it.  I've  had  my  vices  to,  and  have 
them  still.  Beside  Thelma's  innocent  white  soul,  mine  looks 
villainous !  But  I  can  honestlj'  say  I  never  knew  what 
love  was  till  I  saw  her, — and  now — well !  I  would  give  my 
life  away  gladly  to  save  her  from  even  a  small  sorrow." 

"  I  believe  you — I  thoroughly  believe  you  !  "  said  Giild- 
mar.  "  I  see  you  love  the  child.  The  gods  forbid  that  I 
should  stand  in  the  way  of  her  happiness !  I  am  get- 
ting old,  and  'twas  often  a  sore  point  with  me  to  know 
what  would  become  of  my  darling  when  I  was  gone, — for 
she  is  fair  to  look  upon,  and  there  are  many  human  wolves 
read}^  to  devour  such  lambs.  Still,  my  lad,  you  must  learn 
all.  Do  you  know  what  is  said  of  me  in  Bosekop  ?  " 

Errington  smiled  and  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"  You  do  ?  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  somewhat  surprised 
"  You  know  they  say  I  killed  my  wife — my  wife  !  the  creat- 
ure before  whom  my  soul  knelt  in  worship  night  and  day 
— whose  bright  head  was  the  sunlight  of  life  1  Let  me  tell 
you  of  her,  Sir  Philip — 'tis  a  simple  story.  She  was  the 
child  of  my  dearest  friend,  and  many  j^ears  younger  than 
myself.  This  friend  of  mine,  Erik  Erlandsen,  was  the  cap- 
tain of  a  stout  Norwegian  barque,  running  constantly  be- 
tween these  wild  waters  and  the  coast  of  France.  He  fell 
in  love  with,  and  married  a  blue-e}Ted  beauty  from  the  Sogne 
Fjord,  he  carried  her  secretly  away  from  her  parents,  who 
would  not  consent  to  the  marriage.  She  was  a  timid  creat- 
ure, in  spite  of  her  queenly  ways,  and,  for  fear  of  her  par- 
ents, she  would  never  land  again  on  the  shores  of  Norway. 
She  grew  to  love  France, — and  Erik  often  left  her  there  in 
some  safe  shelter  when  he  was  was  bound  on  some  extra 
long  and  stormy  passage.  She  took  to  the  Catholic  creed, 
too,  in  France,  and  learned  to  speak  the  French  tongue,  so 
Erik  said,  as  though  it  were  her  own.  At  the  time  of  the 
expected  birth  of  her  child,  her  husband  had  taken  her  far 
inland  to  Aries,  and  there  business  compelled  him  to  leave  her 
for  some  days.  When  he  returned  she  was  dead ! — laid 
out  for  burial,  with  flowers  and  tapers  round  her.  He  fell 
prone  on  her  body  insensible, — and  not  for  many  hours  did 
the  people  of  the  place  dare  to  tell  him  that  he  was  the 
father  of  a  living  child — a  girl,  with  the  great  blue  eyes 
and  white  skin  of  her  mother.  He  would  scarce  look  at  it 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  177 

— hut  at  last,  when  roused  a  bit,  he  carried  the  little  thing 
in  his  arms  to  the  great  Convent  at  Aries,  and,  giving  the 
nuns  money,  he  bade  them  take  it  and  bring  it  up  as  they 
would,  only  giving  it  the  name  of  Thelma.  Then  poor  Er- 
landsen  came  home— he  sought  me  out : — he  said, '  Olaf,  I 
feel  that  I  am  going  on  my  last  voyage.  Promise  you  will 
see  to  my  child — guard  her,  if  you  can,  from  an  evil  fate ! 
For  me  there  is  no  future ! '  I  promised,  and  strove  to 
cheer  him — but  he  spoke  truly — his  ship  went  down  in  a 
storm  on  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  all  on  board  were  lost. 
Then  it  was  that  I  commenced  m}^  journey  ings  to  and  fro, 
to  see  the  little  maiden  that  was  growing  up  in  the  Convent 
at  Aries.  I  watched  her  for  sixteen  years — and  when  she 
reached  her  seventeenth  birthday,  I  married  her  and  brought 
her  to  Norway." 

"  And  she  was  Thelma's  mother  ?  "  said  Errington  with 
interest. 

"  She  was  Thelma's  mother,"  returned  the  bonde,  "  and 
she  was  more  beautiful  than  even  Thelma  is  now.  Her  ed- 
ucation had  been  almost  entirely  French,  but,  as  a  child, 
she  had  learnt  that  I  generally  spoke  English,  and  as  there 
happened  to  be  an  English  nun  in  the  Convent,  she  studied 
that  language  and  mastered  it  for  the  love  of  me — yes  !  "  he 
repeated  with  musing  tenderness,  "  all  for  the  love  of  me, 
— for  she  loved  me,  Sir  Philip — ay  !  as  passionate^  as  I 
loved  her,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal !  We  lived  a  sol- 
itary happy  life, — but  we  did  not  mix  with  our  neighbors 
— our  creeds  were  different, — our  ways  apart  from  theirs. 
We  had  some  time  of  perfect  happiness  together.  Three 
years  passed  before  our  child  was  born,  and  then  " — the 
bonde  paused  awhile,  and  again  continued, — "  then  my  wife's 
health  grew  frail  and  uncertain.  She  liked  to  be  in  the 
fresh  air,  and  was  fond  of  wandering  about  the  hills  with 
her  little  one  in  her  arms.  One  day — shall  I  ever  forget  it ! 
when  Thelma  was  about  two  and  a  half  years  old,  I  missed 
them  both,  and  went  out  to  search  for  them,  fearing 
my  wife  had  lost  her  way,  anfl  knowing  that  our  child  could 
not  toddle  far  without  fatigue.  I  found  them  " — the  bonde 
shuddered — "  but  how  ?  My  wife  had  slipped  and  fallen 
through  a  chasm  in  the  rocks, — high  enough,  indeed,  to 
have  killed  her, — she  was  alive,  but  injured  for  life.  She 
lay  there  white  and  motionless — little  Thelma  meanwhile 
sat  smilingly  on  the  edge  of  the  rock,  assuring  me  that  her 
mother  had  gone  to  sleep  '  down  there.1  Well  I  "  and  Giild- 
12 


178  THELMA. 

mar  brushed  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "  to 
a  long  story  short,  I  carried  my  darling  home  in  my  arms 
a  wreck — she  lingered  for  ten  years  of  patient  suffering,  ten 
long  years !  She  could  only  move  about  on  crutches, — the 
beauty  of  her  figure  was  gone — but  the  beauty  of  her  face 
grew  more  perfect  every  day  1  Never  again  was  she  seen 
on  the  hills, — and  so  to  the  silly  folks  of  Bosekop  she 
seemed  to  have  disappeared.  Indeed,  I  kept  her  very  ex- 
istence a  secret, — I  could  not  endure  that  others  should 
hear  of  the  destruction  of  all  that  marvellous  grace  and 
queenly  loveliness !  She  lived  long  enough  to  see  her 
daughter  blossom  into  girlhood, — then, — she  died.  I  could 
not  bear  to  have  her  laid  in  the  damp,  wormy  earth — you 
know  in  our  creed  earth-burial  is  not  practiced, — so  I  laid 
her  tenderly  away  in  a  king's  tomb  of  antiquitj", — a  tomb 
known  only  to  myself  and  one  who  assisted  me  to  lay  her 
in  her  last  resting-place.  There  she  sleeps  right  royally, 
— and  now  is  your  mind  relieved,  my  lad  ?  For  the  reports 
of  the  Bosekop  folk  must  certainly  have  awakened  some 
suspicions  in  your  mind  ?  " 

"  Your  story  has  interested  me  deeply,  sir,"  said  Erring- 
ton  ;  "  but  I  assure  you  I  never  had  any  suspicions  of  you 
at  all.  I  always  disregard  gossip — it  is  generally  scandal- 
ous, and  seldom  true.  Besides,  I  took  your  face  on  trust, 
as  you  took  mine." 

"  Then,"  declared  Giildmar,  with  a  smile,  "  I  have  noth- 
ing more  to  say, — except  " — and  he  stretched  out  both 
hands — "  may  the  great  gods  prosper  your  wooing  !  You 
offer  a  fairer  fate  to  Thelma  than  I  had  dreamed  of  for  her 
— but  I  know  not  what  the  child  herself  may  say 

Philip  interrupted  him.  His  eyes  flashed,  and  he  smiled. 

"  She  loves  me  !  "  he  said  simply.  Guldrnar  looked  at 
him,  laughed  a  little,  and  sighed. 

"  She  loves  thee  ?  "  he  said,  relapsing  into  the  thee  and 
thou  he  was  wont  to  use  with  his  daughter.  "  Thou  hast 
lost  no  time,  my  lad  ?  When  didst  thou  find  that  out  ?  " 

"  To-day  !  "  returned  Philip,  with  that  same  triumphant 
smile  playing  about  his  lips.  "  She  told  me  so — yet  even 
now  I  cannot  believe  it  1  " 

"  Ah,  well,  thou  mayest  believe  it  truly,"  said  Giildmar, 
"  for  Thelma  says  nothing  that  she  does  not  mean  !  The 
cnild  has  never  stooped  to  even  the  smallest  falsehood." 

Errington  seemed  lost  in  a  happy  dream.  Suddenly  he 
roused  himself  and  took  Giildmar  by  the  arm. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  179 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  let  us  go  to  her !  She  will  wonder 
why  we  are  so  long  absent.  See  I  the  storm  has  cleared — 
the  sun  is  shining.  It  is  understood?  You  will  give  her  to 
me?" 

u  Foolish  lad  !  "  said  Giildmar  gently.  "  What  have  I  to 
do  with  it  ?  She  has  given  herself  to  thee  !  Love  has  over- 
whelmed both  of  your  hearts,  and  before  the  strong  sweep 
of  such  an  ocean  what  can  an  old  man's  life  avail  ?  Nothing 
— less  than  nothing  !  Besides,  I  should  be  happy — if  I  have 
regrets, — if  I  feel  the  tooth  of  sorrow  biting  at  my  heart — 
'tis  naught  but  selfishness.  'Tis  my  own  dread  of  parting 
with  her  " — his  voice  trembled,  and  his  fine  face  quivered 
with  suppressed  emotion. 

Errington  pressed  his  arm.  "  Our  house  shall  be  yours, 
sir  !  "  he  said  eagerly.  "  Why  not  leave  this  place  and  coma 
with  us  ?  " 

Giildmar  shook  his  head.  "  Leave  Norway  !  "  he  said — • 
"  leave  the  land  of  my  fathers — turn  my  back  on  these 
mountains  and  fjords  and  glaziers?  Never  1  No,  no,  my  lad, 
you're  kind-hearted  and  generous  as  becomes  you,  and  I 
thank  you  from  my  heart.  But  'twould  be  impossible  1  I 
should  be  like  a  caged  eagle,  breaking  my  wings  against  the 
bars  of  English  conventionalities.  Besides,  young  birds 
must  make  their  nest  without  interference  from  the  old  ones." 

He  stepped  out  on  deck  as  Errington  opened  the  little 
cabin  door,  and  his  features  kindled  with  enthusiasm  as  he 
looked  on  the  the  stretch  of  dark  mountain  scenery  around 
him,  illumined  by  the  brilliant  beams  of  the  sun  that  shone 
out  now  in  full  splendor,  as  though  in  glorious  defiance  of 
the  retreating  storm,  which  had  gradually  rolled  away  in 
clouds  that  were  tumbling  one  over  the  other  at  the  ex- 
treme edge  of  the  northern  horizon,  like  vanquished  armies 
taking  to  hasty  flight. 

"  Could  I  stand  the  orderly  tameness  of  your  green  En- 
gland, think  you,  after  this  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  compre- 
hensive gesture  of  his  hand.  "  No,  no!  When  death  comes 
— and  'twill  not  be  long  coming — let  it  find  me  with  my 
face  turned  to  the  mountains,  and  nothing  but  their  kingly 
crests  between  me  and  the  blessed  sky  !  Come,  my  lad !  " 
and  he  relapsed  into  his  ordinary  tone.  "  If  thou  art  like 
me  when  I  was  th}r  age,  every  minute  passed  away  from, 
thy  love  seems  an  eternity  !  Let  us  go  to  her — we  had  best 
wait  till  the  decks  are  dry  before  we  assemble  up  here 
again." 


180  THELMA. 

They  descended  at  once  into  the  saloon,  where  they  found 
Thelma  being  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  chess  by  Du- 
prez, while  Macfarlane  and  Lorimer  looked  idl}r  on.  She 
glanced  up  from  the  board  as  her  father  and  Errington  en- 
tered, and  smiled  at  them  both  with  a  slightly  heightened 
color. 

"  This  is  such  a  wonderful  game,  father !  "  she  said. 
"And  I  am  so  stupid,  I  cannot  understand  it!  So  Mon- 
sieur Pierre  is  trying  to  make  me  remember  the  moves." 

"  Nothing  is  easier  !  "  declared  Duprez.  "  I  was  showing 
you  how  the  bishop  goes,  so — cross-ways,"  and  he  illustra- 
ted his  lesson.  "  He  is  a  dignitary  of  the  Church,  you  per- 
ceive Bien  .'  it  follows  that  he  cannot  go  in  a  straight  line, 
— if  you  observe  them  well,  j'ou  will  see  that  all  the  relig- 
ious gentlemen  play  at  cross  purposes.  You  are  very  quick, 
Mademoiselle  Giildmar, — you  have  perfectly  comprehended 
the  move  of  the  castle,  and  the  pretty  plunge  of  the  knight. 
Now,  as  I  told  you,  the  queen  can  do  anything — all  the 
pieces  shiver  in  their  shoes  before  her !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  feeling  a  little  embarrassed,  as  Sir 
Philip  came  and  sat  beside  her,  looking  at  her  with  an  un- 
doubtedly composed  air  of  absolute  proprietorship. 

"  Why?  Enfin,  the  reason  is  simple!  "  answered  Pierre. 
"  The  queen  is  a  woman, — everything  must  give  way  to 
her  wish !  " 

"  And  the  king  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"Ah!  Le  pauver  Hoi!  He  can  do  very  little — almost 
nothing  !  He  can  only  move  one  step  at  a  time,  and  that 
with  much  labor  and  hesitation — he  is  the  wooden  image 
of  Louis  XYI. !  " 

"  Then,"  said  the  girl  quickly,  "  the  object  of  the  game 
is  to  protect  a  king  who  is  not  worth  protecting  !  " 

Duprez  laughed.  "  Exactly  !  And  thus,  in  this  charm- 
ing game,  you  have  the  history  of  many  nations  1  Made- 
moiselle Giildmar  has  put  the  matter  excellently  !  Chess 
is  for  those  who  intend  to  form  republics.  All  the  worry 
and  calculation — all  the  moves  of  pawns,  bishops,  knights, 
castles,  and  queens, — all  to  shelter  the  throne  which  is  not 
worth  protecting  !  Excellent !  Mademoiselle,  you  are  not 
.in  favor  of  monarchies !  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Thelma  ;  "  I  have  never  thought 
of  such  things.  But  kings  should  be  great  men, — wise  and 
powerful,  better  and  braver  than  all  their  subjects,  should 
they  not  ?  " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  181 

"  Undoubtedly  !  "  remarked  Lorimer  ;  "  but,  it's  a  curious 
thing,  they  seldom  are.  Now,  our  queen,  God  bless  her — " 

"  Hear,  hear !  "  interrupted  Errington,  laughing  good- 
humoredly.  "  I  won't  have  have  a  word  said  against  the 
dear  old  lady,  Lorimer !  Granted  that  she  hates  London, 
and  sees  no  fun  in  being  stared  at  by  vulgar  crowds,  I 
think  she's  quite  right, — and  I  sympathize  heartily  with 
her  liking  for  a  cup  of  tea  in  peace  and  quiet  with  some  old 
Scotch  body  who  doesn't  care  whether  she's  a  queen  or  a 
washerwoman." 

"  I  think,"  said  Macfarlane  slowly,  "  that  royalty  has  its 
duties,  ye  see,  an'  though  I  canna  say  I  object  to  Her 
Majesty's  homely  way  o'  behavin',  still  there  are  a  few 
matters  that  wad  be  the  better  for  her  pairsonal  attention." 

"  Oh  bother !  "  said  Errington  gaily.  "  Look  at  that 
victim  of  the  nation,  the  Prince  of  Wales  !  The  poor  fel- 
low hasn't  a  moment's  peace  of  his  life, — what  with  laying 
foundation  stones,  opening  museums,  inspecting  this  and 
visiting  that,  he  is  like  a  costermonger's  donkey,  that  must 
gee-up  or  gee- wo  as  his  master,  the  people  bid.  If  he 
smiles  at  a  woman,'it  is  instantly  reported  that  he's  in  love 
with  her, — if  he  frankly  says  he  considers  her  prett}^  there's 
no  end  to  the  scandal.  Poor  royal  wretch  1  I  pity  him 
from  my  heart !  The  unwashed,  beer-drinking,  gin-swilling 
classes,  who  clamor  for  shortened  hours  of  labor,  and  want 
work  to  be  expressly  invented  for  their  benefit,  don't  suf- 
fer a  bit  more  than  Albert  Edward,  who  is  supposed  to  be 
rolling  idly  in  the  very  lap  of  luxury,  and  who  can  hardly 
call  his  soul  his  own.  Why,  the  man  can't  eat  a  mutton- 
chop  without  there  being  a  paragraph  in  the  papers  headed, 
'  Diet  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.'  His  life  is  made  an  infinite 
bore  to  him,  I'm  positive  !  " 

Giildmar  looked  thoughtful.  "  I  know  little  about  kings 
or  princes,"  he  said,  "  but  it  seems  to  me,  from  what  I  do 
know,  that  they  have  but  small  power.  They  are  mere 
puppets.  In  olden  times  they  possessed  supremacy,  but 
now — " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  interrupted  Duprez  excitedly,  "  who  it 
is  that  rules  the  people  in  these  times, — it  is  the  Pen — 
Madame  la  Plume.  A  little  black,  sharp,  scratching  devil 
she  is, — empress  of  all  nations !  No  crown  but  a  point, — 
no  royal  robe  save  ink  !  It  is  certain  that  as  long  as 
Madame  la  Plume  gambols  freely  over  her  realms  of  paper, 
so  long  must  kings  and  autocrats  shake  in  their  shoes  and 


182  THELMA. 

be  uncertain  of  their  thrones.  Man  Dieu  !  if  I  had  but 
the  gift  of  writing,  I  would  conquer  the  world ! " 

"There  are  an  immense  number  of  people  writing  just 
now,  Pierre,"  remarked  Lorimer,  with  a  smile,  "  yet  they 
don't  do  much  in  the  conquering  line." 

"  Because  they  are  afraid  !  "  said  Duprez.  "  Because  they 
have  not  the  courage  of  their  opinions !  Because  they  dare 
not  tell  the  truth  !  " 

"  Upon  my  life,  I  believe  you  are  right !  "  said  Errington. 
"  If  there  were  a  man  bold  enough  to  declare  truths  and 
denounce  lies,  I  should  imagine  it  quite  possible  that  he 
might  conquer  the  world, — or,  at  any  rate,  make  it  afraid 
of  him." 

"  But  is  the  world  so  full  of  lies  ?  "  asked  Thelma  tim- 
idly. 

Lorimer  looked  at  her  gravely.  "  I  fear  so,  Miss  Giild- 
mar !  I  think  it  has  a  tolerable  harvest  of  them  every 
year, — a  harvest,  too,  that  never  fails  !  But  I  say,  Phil ! 
Look  at  the  sun  shining  !  Let  us  go  up  on  deck, — we 
shall  soon  be  getting  back  to  the  Altenfjord." 

They  all  rose,  threw  on  their  caps,  and  left  the  saloon 
with  the  exception  of  Errington,  who  lingered  behind, 
watching  his  opportunity,  and  as  Thelma  followed  her 
father  he  called  her  back  softly — 

"  Thelma ! " 

She  hesitated,  and  then  turned  towards  him, — her  father 
saw  her  movement,  smiled  at  her,  and  nodded  kindly,  as  he 
passed  through  the  saloon  doors  and  disappeared.  With  a 
beating  heart,  she  sprang  quickly  to  her  lover's  side,  and 
as  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  she  whispered — 

"  You  have  told  him  ?  " 

"  Your  father  ?  Yes,  my  darling  !  "  murmured  Philip, 
as  he  kissed  her  sweet,  upturned  lips.  "  Be  quite  happy — 
he  knows  everything.  Come,  Thelma  !  tell  me  again  you 
love  me — I  have  not  heard  you  say  it  properly  yet !  " 

She  smiled  dreamily  as  she  leaned  against  his  breast  and 
looked  up  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  say  it  properly ! "  she  said.  "  There  is  no 
language  for  my  heart !  If  I  could  tell  you  all  I  feel,  3-ou 
would  think  it  foolish,  I  am  sure,  because  it  is  all  so  wild 
and  strange," — she  stopped,  and  her  face  grew  pale, — 
"  oh  !  "  she  murmured  with  a  slight  tremor  ;  "  it  is  ter- 
rible !  " 

"What   is  terrible,   my    sweet   one.?"  asked  Errington, 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  183 

drawing  her  more  closely,  and  folding  her  more  tightly  in 
his  arms. 

She  sighed  deeply.  "  To  have  no  more  life  of  my  own  1 " 
she  answered,  while  her  low  voice  quivered  with  intense 
feeling.  "  It  has  all  gone — to  you  !  And  yours  has  come 
to  me ! — is  it  not  strange  and  almost  sad  ?  How  your  heart 
beats,  poor  boy  ! — I  can  hear  it  throb,  throb — so  fast ! — 
here,  where  I  am  resting  my  head."  She  looked  up,  and 
her  little  white  hand  caressed  his  cheek.  "  Philip,''  she 
said  very  softly,  "  what  are  3rou  thinking  about  ?  Your 
eyes  shine  so  brightly — do  you  know  you  have  beautiful 
eyes  ?  " 

"  Have  I  ? "  he  murmured  abstractedly,  looking  down  on 
that  exquisite,  innocent,  glowing  face,  and  trembling  with 
the  force  of  the  restrained  passion  that  kindled  through 
him.  "  I  don't  know  about  that ! — yours  seem  to  me  like 
two  stars  fallen  from  heaven  !  Oh,  Thelma,  my  darling  ! — 
God  make  me  worthy  of  you." 

He  spoke  with  intense  fervor, — kissing  her  with  a  ten- 
derness, in  which  there  was  something  of  reverence  as  well 
as  fear.  The  whole  soul  of  the  man  was  startled  and 
roused  to  inexpressible  devotion,  by  the  absolute  simplicity 
and  purity  of  her  nature — the  direct  frankness  with  which 
she  had  said  her  life  was  his — his ! — and  in  what  way  was 
he  fitted  to  be  the  guardian  and  possessor  of  this  white  lily 
from  the  garden  of  God  ?  She  was  so  utterly  different  to 
ill  women  as  he  had  known  them — as  different  as  a  bird  of 
paradise  to  a  common  house-sparrow.  Meanwhile,  as  these 
thoughts  flitted  through  his  brain,  she  moved  gently  from 
his  embrace  and  smiled  proudly,  yet  sweetly. 

"  Worthy  of  me  ?  "  she  said  softly  and  wonderingly.  "  It 
is  I  that  will  pray  to  be  made  worthy  of  you.'  You  must 
not  put  it  wrongly,  Philip !  " 

He  made  no  answer,  but  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  before 
him,  majestic  as  a  young  empress  in  her  straight,  un- 
adorned white  gown. 

"  Thelma !  "  he  said  suddenly,  "  do  you  know  how  lovely 
you  are  ? " 

"  Yes  !  "  she  answered  simply  ;  "  I  know  it,  because  I  am 
like  my  mother.  But  it  is  not  anything  to  be  beautiful, — 
unless  one  is  loved, — and  then  it  is  different !  I  feel  much 
more  beautiful  now,  since  you  think  me  pleasant  to  look 
at!" 

Philip  laughed  and  caught  her  hand.    "  What  a  child 


184  THELMA. 

you  are  ! "  he  said.  "  Now  let  me  see  this  little  finger." 
And  he  loosened  from  his  watch-chain  a  half-hoop  ring  of 
brilliants.  "  This  belonged  to  my  mother,  Thelma,"  he 
continued  gently,  "  and  since  her  death  I  have  always  car- 
ried it  about  with  me.  I  resolved  never  to  part  with  it,  ex- 
cept to —  He  paused  and  slipped  it  on  the  third  finger 
of  her  left  hand,  where  it  sparkled  bravely. 

She  gazed  at  it  in  surprise.  "  You  part  with  it  now  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  wonder  in  her  accents.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand !  " 

He  kissed  her.  "  No?  I  will  explain  again,  Thelma! — 
and  you  shall  not  laugh  at  me  as  you  did  the  very  first 
time  I  saw  you  !  I  resolved  never  to  part  with  this  ring,  I 
say,  except  to — my  promised  wife.  Now  do  you  under- 
stand ? " 

She  blushed  deeply,  and  her  eyes  dropped  before  his 
ardent  gaze. 

"  I  do  thank  you  very  much,  Philip," — she  faltered 
timidly, — she  was  about  to  say  something  further  when 
suddenly  Lorimer  entered  the  saloon.  He  glanced  from 
Errington  to  Thelma,  and  from  Thelma  back  again  to  Er- 
rington,— and  smiled.  So  have  certain  brave  soldiers  been 
known  to  smile  in  face  of  a  death-shot.  He  advanced  with 
his  usual  languid  step  and  nonchalant  air,  and  removing 
his  cap,  bowed  gravely  and  courteously. 

"  Let  me  be  the  first  to  offer  my  congratulations  to  the 
future  Lady  Errington !  Phil,  old  man  I  ...  I  wish  you 
joy !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"Why,  sir,  in  the  universal  game  of  double-dealing,  shall  not  the 
cleverest  tricksters  play  each  other  false  by  haphazard,  and  so  be- 
tray their  closest  secreto,  to  their  own  and  their  friends'  infinif 
amazement  ?  " — CONGREVE. 

WHEN  Olaf  Giildmar  and  his  daughter  left  the  yacht  that 
evening,  Errington  accompanied  them,  in  order  to  have  the 
satisfaction  of  escorting  his  beautiful  betrothed  as  far  as 
her  own  door.  They  were  all  three  very  silent — the  bonde 
was  pensive,  Thelma  shy,  and  Errington  himself  was  too 
happy  for  speech.  Arriving  at  the  farmhouse,  they  saw 
Sigurd  curled  up  under  the  porch,  playing  idly  with  the 
trailing  rose-branches,  but,  on  hearing  their  footsteps,  he 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  185 

looked  up,  uttered  a  wild  exclamation,  and  fled.  Giildmar 
tapped  his  own  forehead  significantly. 

"  He  grows  worse  and  worse,  the  poor  lad ! "  he  said 
somewhat  sorrowfully.  "  And  yet  there  is  a  strange 
mingling  of  foresight  and  wit  with  his  wild  fancies. 
Wouldst  thou  believe  it,  Thelma,  child,"  and  here  he 
turned  to  his  daughter  and  encircled  her  waist  with  his 
arm — "  he  seemed  to  know  how  matters  were  with  thee 
and  Philip,  when  I  was  yet  in  the  dark  concerning  them !  " 

This  was  the  first  allusion  her  father  had  made  to  her 
engagement,  and  her  head  drooped  with  a  sort  of  sweet 
shame. 

"  Nay,  now,  why  hide  thy  face  ?  "  went  on  the  old  man 
cheerily.  "  Didst  thou  think  I  would  grudge  my  bird  her 
summer-time  ?  Not  I !  And  little  did  I  hope  for  thee,  my 
darling,  that  thou  wouldst  find  a  shelter  worth}'  of  thee  in 
this  wild  world  !  "  He  paused  a  moment,  looking  tenderly 
down  upon  her,  as  she  nestled  in  mute  affection  against 
his  breast, — then  addressing  himself  to  Errington,  he  went 
on — 

"  We  have  a  story  in  our  Norse  religion,  my  lad,  of  two 
lovers  who  declared  their  passion  to  each  other,  on  one 
stormy  night  in  the  depth  of  winter.  They  were  together 
in  a  desolate  hut  on  the  mountains,  and  around  them  lay 
unbroken  tracts  of  frozen  snow.  They  were  descended  from 
the  gods,  and  therefore  the  gods  protected  them — and  it 
happened  that  after  they  had  sworn  their  troth,  the  doors 
of  the  snow-bound  hut  flew  suddenly  open,  and  lo!  the 
landscape  had  changed — the  hills  were  gay  with  grass  and 
flowers, — the  sky  was  blue  and  brilliant,  tho  birds  sang, 
and  everywhere  was  heard  the  ripple  of  waters  let  loose 
from  their  icy  fetters,  and  gamboling  down  the  rocks  in 
the  joyous  sun.  This  was  the  work  of  the  goddess  Friga, — 
the  first  kiss  exchanged  by  the  lovers  she  watched  over, 
banished  Winter  from  the  land,  and  Spring  came  instead. 
'Tis  a  pretty  story,  and  true  all  the  world  over — true 
for  all  men  and  women  of  all  creeds !  It  must  be  an  ice- 
bound heart  indeed  that  will  not  warm  to  the  touch  of  love 
— and  mine,  though  aged,  grows  young  again  in  the  joy  of 
my  children."  He  put  his  daughter  gently  from  him  to- 
wards Philip,  saying  with  more  gravity,  "  Go  to  him,  child  ! 
— go — with  thy  old  father's  blessing !  And  take  with  thee 
the  three  best  virtues  of  a  wife, — truth,  humility,  and  obe- 
dience. Good  night,  my  son !  "  and  he  wrung  Errington's 


186  THELMA. 

hand  with  fervor.  "  You'll  take  longer  to  say  good  night 
to  Thelma,"  and  he  laughed,  "  so  I'll  go  in  and  leave  you 
to  it ! " 

And  with  a  good-natured  nod,  he  entered  the  house 
whistling  a  tune  as  he  went,  that  they  might  not  think  lie 
imagined  himself  lonely  or  neglected. — and  the  two  lovers 
paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  garden-path  together,  ex- 
changing those  first  confidences  which  to  outsiders  seem  so 
eminently  foolish,  but  which  to  those  immediately  con- 
cerned are  most  wonderful,  delightful,  strange,  and  en- 
chanting beyond  all  description.  Where,  from  a  practical 
point  of  view,  is  the  sense  of  such  questions  as  these — 
"  When  did  you  love  me  first  ?  "  "  What  did  you  feel  when 
I  said  so-and-so?"  "Have  you  dreamt  of  me  often?" 
"  Will  }rou  love  me  always,  always,  always  ?  "  and  so  on  ad 
infinitum.  "  Ridiculous  rubbish  !  "  exclaims  the  would-be 
strong-minded,  but  secretly  savage  old  maid, — and  the  self- 
ishly matter-of-fact,  but  privately  fidgety  and  lonely  old 
bachelor.  Ah !  but  there  are  those  who  could  tell  you  that 
at  one  time  or  another  of  their  lives  this  "  ridiculous  rub- 
bish "  seemed  far  more  important  than  the  decline  and  fall 
of  empires, — more  necessaiy  to  existence  than  light  and 
air, — more  fraught  with  hope,  fear,  suspense,  comfort,  de- 
spair, and  anxiety  than  anything  that  could  be  invented  or 
imagined!  Philip  and  Thelma, — man  and  woman  in  the 
full  flush  of  youth,  health,  beauty,  and  happiness, — had 
just  entered  their  Paradise, — their  fairy -garden, — and  every 
little  flower  and  leaf  on  the  way  had  special,  sweet  interest 
for  them.  Love's  indefinable  glories, — Love's  proud  possi- 
bilities,— Love's  long  ecstasies, — these,  like  so  many  spirit- 
figures,  seemed  to  smile  and  beckon  them  on,  on,  on, 
through  golden  seas  of  sunlight. — through  flower-filled 
fields  of  drowsy  enhancement, — through  winding  ways  of 
rose-strewn  and  lily-scented  leafage, — on,  on,  with  eyes  and 
hearts  absorbed  in  one  another, — unseeing  any  end  to  the 
dreamlike  wonders  that,  like  some  heavenly  picture-scroll, 
unrolled  slowly  and  radiantl}-  before  them.  And  so  they 
murmured  those  unwise,  tender  things  which  no  wisdom  in 
the  world  has  ever  surpassed,  and  when  Philip  at  last  said 
"  Good  night ! "  with  more  reluctance  than  Romeo,  and 
pressed  his  parting  kiss  on  his  love's  sweet,  fresh  mouth, — 
the  riddle  with  which  he  had  puzzled  himself  so  often  was 
resolved  at  last, — life  was  worth  living,  worth  cherishing, 
worth  ennobling.  The  reason  of  all  things  seemed  clear  to 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  187 

him, — Love,  and  Love  only,  supported,  controlled,  and 
grandly  completed  the  universe  !  He  accepted  this  answer 
to  all  perplexities, — his  heart  expanded  with  a  sense  of 
large  content — his  soul  was  satisfied. 

Meanwhile,  during  his  friend's  absence  from  the  yacht, 
Lorimer  took  it  upon  himself  to  break  the  news  to  Duprez 
and  Macfarlane.  These  latter  young  gentleman  had  had 
their  suspicions  already,  but  they  were  not  quite  prepared 
to  hear  them  so  soon  confirmed.  Lorimer  told  the  matter 
in  his  own  way. 

"  I  say,  you  fellows  !  "  he  remarked  carelessly,  as  he  sat 
smoking  in  their  company  on  deck,  "  you'd  better  look  out ! 
If  you  stare  at  Miss  Giildmar  too  much,  you'll  have  Phil 
down  upon  you  !  " 

"  Ha,  ha  1  "  exclaimed  Duprez  slyly,  "  the  dear  Phil-eep 
is  in  love  ?  " 

"  Something  more  than  that,"  said  Lorimer,  looking  ab- 
sently at  the  cigarette  he  held  between  his  fingers, — "  he's 
an  engaged  man." 

"  Engaged  !  "  cried  Macfarlane  excitedly.  "  Ma  certes  ! 
He  has  the  deevil's  own  Luck!  He's  just  secured  for  him- 
self the  grandest  woman  in  the  warld  !  " 

"  Je  le  crois  bien  ! "  said  Duprez  gravely,  nodding  his 
head  several  times.  "  Phil-eep  is  a  wise  boy  !  He  is  the 
fortunate  one !  I  am  not  for  marriage  at  all — no !  not  for 
m3'self, — it  is  to  tie  one's  hands,  to  become  a  prisoner, — and 
that  would  not  suit  me ;  but  if  I  were  inclined  to  captivity, 
I  should  like  Mademoiselle  Giildmar  for  my  beautiful 
gaoler.  And  beautiful  she  is,  mon  Dieu  /  .  .  .  beyond  all 
comparison ! " 

Lorimer  was  silent,  so  was  Macfarlane.  After  a  pause 
Duprez  spoke  again. 

"  And  do  you  know,  cher  Lorimer,  when  our  Phil-eep 
will  marry  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,"  returned  Lorimer.  "  I 
know  he's  engaged,  that's  all." 

Suddenly  Macfarlane  broke  into  a  chuckling  laugh. 

"  I  say.  Lorimer,"  he  said,  with  his  deep-set,  small  grey 
eyes  sparkling  with  mischief.  "  'Twould  be  grand  fun  to 
see  auld  Dyceworthy's  face  when  he  hears  o't.  By  the 
Lord !  He'll  fall  to  cursin'  an'  swearin'  like  ma  pious  aunt 
in  Glasgie,  or  that  auld  witch  that  cursed  Miss  Thelma 
yestreen  !  " 


1S8  THELMA, 

"An  eminently  unpleasant  old  woman  she  was !  "  said 
Lorimer  musingty.  "  I  wonder  what  she  meant  by  it !  " 

"  She  meant,  mon  cher"  said  Duprez  airity,  "  that  she 
knew  herself  to  be  ugly  and  venerable,  while  Mademoiselle 
was  youthful  and  ravishing, — it  is  a  sufficient  reason  to  ex- 
cite profanity  in  the  mind  of  a  lady  !  " 

"  Here  comes  Errington  !  "  said  Macfarlane,  pointing  to 
the  approaching  boat  that  was  coming  swiftly  back  from 
the  Giildmars'  pier.  "  Lorimer,  are  we  to  congratulate 
him?" 

"  If  you  like !  "  returned  Lorimer.  "  I  dare  say  he  won't 
object." 

So  that  as  soon  as  Sir  Philip  set  foot  on  the  yacht,  his 
hands  were  cordially  grasped,  and  his  friends  outvied  each 
other  in  good  wishes  for  his  happiness.  He  thanked  them 
simply  and  with  a  manly  straightforwardness,  entirely  free 
from  the  usual  affected  embarrassment  that  some  modern 
young  men  think  it  seemly  to  adopt  under  similar  circum- 
stances. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said  frankly,  "  I  congratulate  myself, — 
I'm  more  lucky  than  I  deserve,  I  know!" 

"  What  a  sensation  she  will  make  in  London,  Phil! "  said 
Lorimer  suddenly.  "I've  just  thought  of  it!  Good 
Heavens !  Lady  Winsleigh  will  cry  lor  sheer  spite  and 
vexation ! " 

Philip  laughed.  "  I  hope  not,"  he  said.  "  I  should  think 
it  would  need  immense  force  to  draw  a  tear  from  her  lady- 
ship's cold  bright  eyes." 

"  She  used  to  like  you  awfully,  Phil  I "  said  Lorimer. 
"  You  were  a  great  favorite  of  hers." 

"  All  men  are  her  favorites  with  the  exception  of  one. — 
her  husband  !  "  observed  Errington  gaily.  "  Come  along, 
let's  have  some  champagne  to  celebrate  the  day !  We'll 
propose  toasts  and  drink  healths — we've  got  a  fair  excuse 
for  jollity  this  evening." 

They  all  descended  into  the  saloon,  and  had  a  merry  time 
of  it,  singing  songs  and  telling  good  stories,  Lorimer  being 
the  gayest  of  the  party,  and  it  was  long  past  midnight 
when  they  retired  to  their  cabins,  without  even  looking  at 
the  wonders  of,  perhaps,  the  most  gorgeous  sky  that  had 
yet  shone  on  their  travels — a  sk}r  of  complete  rose-color, 
varying  from  the  deepest  shade  up  to  the  palest,  in  which 
the  sun  glowed  with  a  subdued  radiance  like  an  enormous 
burning  raby. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  189 

Thelma  saw  it,  standing  under  her  house-porch,  where 
her  father  had  joined  her, — Sigurd  saw  it, — he  had  come 
out  from  some  thicket  where  he  had  been  hiding,  and  he 
now  sat,  in  a  humble,  crouching  posture  at  Thelma's  feet. 
All  three  were  silent,  reverently  watching  the  spreading 
splendor  of  the  heavens.  Once  Guldinar  addressed  his 
daughter  in  a  soft  tone. 

"  Thou  are  happy,  my  bird  ?  " 

She  smiled — the  expression  of  her  face  was  almost  divine 
in  its  rapture. 

"  Perfectly  happy,  my  father!  " 

At  the  sound  of  her  dulcet  voice,  Sigurd  looked  up.  His 
large  blue  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  he  took  her  hand  and 
held  it  in  his  meagre  and  wasted  one. 

u  Mistress ! "  he  said  suddenly,  "  do  you  think  I  shal] 
soon  die  ? " 

She  turned  her  pitying  eyes  down  upon  him,  startled  by 
the  vibrating  melancholy  of  his  tone. 

"Thou  wilt  die,  Sigurd,"  answered  Giildmar  gently, 
"  when  the  gods  please, — not  one  second  sooner  or  later. 
Art  thou  eager  to  see  Valhalla  ?  " 

Sigurd  nodded  dreamily.  "  They  will  understand  me 
there  I  "  he  murmured.  "  And  I  shall  grow  straight  and 
strong  and  brave !  Mistress,  if  you  meet  me  in  Valhalla, 
you  will  love  me !  " 

She  stroked  his  wild  fair  locks.  "  I  love  you  now, 
Sigurd,"  she  said  tenderly.  "  But  perhaps  we  shall  all  love 
each  other  better  in  heaven." 

"  Yes,  3res  1  "  exclaimed  Sigurd,  patting  her  hand  caress- 
ingly. "  When  we  are  all  dead,  dead  I  When  our  bodies 
crumble  away  and  turn  to  flowers  and  birds  and  butterflies, 
— and  our  souls  come  out  like  white  and  red  flames, — yes  ! 
.  .  .  then  we  shall  love  each  other  and  talk  of  such  strange, 
strange  things !  "  He  paused  and  laughed  wildly.  Then 
his  voice  sank  again  into  melancholy  monotony — and  he 
added :  "  Mistress,  you  are  killing  poor  Sigurd  1 " 

Thelma's  face  grew  very  earnest  and  anxious.  "  Are 
you  vexed  with  me,  dear  ?  "  she  asked  soothingly.  "  Tell 
me  what  it  is  that  troubles  you  ?  " 

Sigurd  met  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  speechless  despair  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  !  "  he  muttered.  "  All  my  thoughts 
have  gone  to  drown  themselves  one  by  one  in  the  cold  sea ! 
My  heart  was  buried  yesterday,  and  I  saw  it  sealed  down 


190  THELMA. 

into  its  coffin.  There  is  something  of  me  left, — something 
that  dances  before  me  like  a  flame, — but  it  will  not  rest,  it 
does  not  obey  me.  I  call  it,  but  it  will  not  come !  And  1 
am  getting  tired,  mistress — very,  very  tired !  "  His  voice 
broke,  and  a  low  sob  escaped  him, — he  hid  his  face  in  the 
folds  of  her  dress.  Giildmar  looked  at  the  poor  fellow  com- 
passionately. 

"  The  wits  wander  further  and  further  away  1 "  he  said  to 
his  daughter  in  a  low  tone.  "  'Tis  a  mind  like  a  broken  rain- 
bow, split  through  by  storm — 'twill  soon  vanish.  Be  patient 
with  him,  child, — it  cannot  be  for  long !  " 

"  No,  not  for  long !  "  cried  Sigurd,  raising  his  head 
brightly.  "  That  is  true — not  for  long  !  Mistress,  will  you 
come  to-morrow  with  me  and  gather  flowers  ?  You  used  to 
love  to  wander  with  your  poor  boy  in  the  fields, — but  you 
have  forgotten, — and  I  cannot  find  any  blossoms  without 
you ! '  They  will  not  show  themselves  unless  you  come  1 
Will  you  ?  dear,  beautiful  mistress  !  will  you  come  ?  " 

She  smiled,  pleased  to  see  him  a  little  more  cheerful. 
"  Yes,  Sigurd,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  come.  We  will  go  to- 
gether early  to-morrow  morning  and  gather  all  the  flowers 
we  can  find.  Will  that  make  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes  I "  he  said,  softly  kissing  the  hem  of  her  dress.  "  It 
will  make  me  happy — for  the  last  time." 

Then  he  rose  in  an  attitude  of  attention,  as  though  he 
had  been  called  by  some  one  at  a  distance, — and  with  a 
grave,  preoccupied  air  he  moved  away,  walking  on  tip-toe 
as  though  he  feared  to  interrupt  the  sound  of  some  soft  in- 
visible music.  Giildmar  sighed  as  he  watched  him  disap- 
pear. 

"  May  the  gods  make  us  thankful  for  a  clear  brain  when 
we  have  it !  "  he  said  devoutly ;  and  then  turning  to  his 
daughter,  he  bade  her  good  night,  and  laid  his  hands  on  her 
golden  head  in  silent  but  fervent  blessing.  "  Child,"  he 
said  tremulously,  "in  the  new  joys  that  await  thee,  never 
forget  how  thy  old  father  loves  thee  !  " 

Then,  not  trusting  himself  to  say  more,  he  strode  into  the 
house  and  betook  himself  to  slumber.  Thelma  followed  his 
example,  and  the  old  farmhouse  was  soon  wrapped  in  the 
peace  and  stillness  of  th*1  strange  night — a  night  of  glitter- 
ing sunshine.  Sigurd  alone  was  wakeful, — he  lay  at  the 
foot  of  one  of  the  tallest  pine-trees,  and  stared  persistently 
at  the  radiant  sky  through  the  network  of  dark  branches. 
Now  and,  then  he  pmiled  as  though  he  saw  some  beatifig 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  191 

vision — sometimes  he  plucked  fitfully  at  the  soft  long  moss 
on  which  he  had  made  his  couch,  and  sometimes  he  broke 
into  a  low,  crooning  song.  God  alone  knew  the  broken 
ideas,  the  dim  fancies,  the  half-born  desires,  that  glimmered 
like  pale  ghosts  in  the  desert  of  his  brain, — God  alone,  in 
the  great  Hereafter,  could  solve  the  problen  of  his  sorrows 
and  throw  light  on  his  soul's  darkness. 

It  was  past  six  in  the  morning  when  he  arose,  and 
smoothing  back  his  tangled  locks,  went  to  Thelma's  window 
and  sat  down  beneath  it,  in  mute  expectancy.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait, — at  the  expiration  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes, 
the  little  lattice  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  the  girl's  face, 
fresh  as  a  rose,  framed  in  a  shower  of  amber  locks,  smiled 
down  upon  him. 

"  I  am  coming,  Sigurd !  "  she  cried  softly  and  joyously. 
"  How  lovely  the  morning  is  !  Stay  for  me  there  !  I  shaH 
not  be  long." 

And  she  disappeared,  leaving  her  window  open.  Sigurd 
heard  her  singing  little  scraps  of  song  to  herself,  as  she 
moved  about  in  the  interior  of  her  room.  He  listened,  as 
though  his  soul  were  drawn  out  of  him  by  her  voice, — but 
presently  the  rich  notes  ceased,  and  there  was  a  sudden 
silence.  Sigurd  knew  or  guessed  the  reason  of  that  hush, 
— Thelma  was  at  her  prayers.  Instinctively  the  poor  for- 
lorn lad  folded  his  wasted  hands — most  piteously  and 
most  imploringly  he  raised  his  bewildered  eyes  to  the 
blue  and  golden  glory  of  the  sky.  His  conception  of  God 
was  indefinable  ;  his  dreams  of  heaven,  chaotic  minglingsof 
fairy-land  with  Valhalla, — but  he  somehow  felt  that  where- 
ever  Thelma's  holy  aspirations  turned,  there  the  angels 
must  be  listening. 

Presently  she  came  out  of  the  house,  looking  radiant  as 
the  morning  itself, — her  luxuriant  hair  was  thrown  back 
over  her  shoulders,  and  fell  loosely  about  her  in  thick  curls, 
simply  confined  by  a  knot  of  blue  ribbon.  She  carried  a 
large  osier  basket,  capacious,  and  gracefully  shaped. 

"  Now,  Sigurd,"  she  called  sweetly,  "  I  am  ready ! 
Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

Sigurd  hastened  to  her  side,  happy  and  smiling. 

"  Across  there,"  he  said,, pointing  toward-the  direction  of 
Bosekop.  "  There  is  a  stream  under  the  trees  that  laughs 
to  itself  all  day — you  know  it,  mistress  ?  And  the  poppies 
ftre  in  the  field  as  you  go — and  by  the  banks  there  ar$  t«e 


193  THELMA. 

heart's-ease  flowers — we  cannot  have  too  many  of  theml 
Shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Wherever  you  like,  dear,"  answered  Thelma  tenderly, 
looking  down  from  her  stately  height  on  the  poor  stunted 
creature  at  her  side,  who  held  her  dress  as  though  he  were 
a  child  clinging  to  her  as  his  sole  means  of  guidance.  "All 
the  land  is  pleasant  to-day." 

They  left  the  farm  and  its  boundaries.  A  few  men  were 
at  work  on  one  of  Giildmar's  fields,  and  these  looked  up, — 
half  in  awe,  half  in  fear, — as  Thelma  and  her  fantastic 
servitor  passed  along. 

"  'Tis  a  fine  wench  !  "  said  one  man,  resting  on  his  spade, 
and  following  with  his  eyes  the  erect,  graceful  figure  of  his 
employer's  daughter. 

"  Maybe,  maybe !  "  said  another  gruffly  ;  "  but  a  fine 
wench  is  a  snare  of  the  devil !  Do  ye  mind  what  Lovisa 
Elsland  told  us  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  answered  the  first  speaker,  "  Lovisa  knows, — 
Lovisa  is  the  wisest  woman  we  have  in  these  parts — that's 
true  !  The  girl's  a  witch,  for  sure  !  " 

And  they  resumed  their  work  in  gloomy  silence.  Not 
one  of  them. would  have  willingly  labored  on  Olaf  Giild- 
mar's land,  had  not  the  wages  he  offered  been  above  the 
usual  rate  of  hire, — and  times  were  bad  in  Norway.  But 
otherwise,  the  superstitious  fear  of  him  was  so  great  that 
his  fields  might  have  gone  unfilled  and  his  crops  ungath- 
ered, — however,  as  matters  stood,  none  of  them  could  deny 
that  he  was  a  good  paymaster,  and  just  in  his  dealings  with 
those  whom  he  employed. 

Thelma  and  Sigurd  took  their  way  in  silence  across  a 
perfumed  stretch  of  meadow-land, — the  one  naturally  fer- 
tile spot  in  that  somewhat  barren  district.  Plenty  of  flow- 
ers blossomed  at  their  feet,  but  they  did  not  pause  to  gather 
these,  for  Sigurd  was  anxious  to  get  to  the  stream  where 
the  purple  pansies  grew.  They  soon  reached  it — it  was  a 
silvery  clear  ribbon  of  water  that  unrolled  itself  in  bright 
folds,  through  green,  transparent  tunnels  of  fern  and  wav- 
ing grass — leaping  now  and  then  with  a  swift  dash  over  a 
smooth  block  of  stone  or  jagged  rock — but  for  the  most 
part  gliding  softly,  with  a  happy,  self-satisfied  murmur,  as 
though  it  were  some  drowsy  spirit  dreaming  joyous  dreams. 
Hire  nodded  the  grave,  purple-leaved  pansies, — legendary 
consolers  of  the  heart, — their  little,  quaint,  expressive 
physiognomies  turned  in  every  direction  j  up  to  the  sky,  as 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  193 

though  absorbing  the  sunlight, — down  to  the  ground,  with 
an  almost  severe  air  of  meditation,  or  curled  sideways  on 
their  stems  in  a  sort  of  sly  reflectiveness. 

Sigurd  was  among  them  at  once — they  were  his  friends, 
— his  playmates,  his  favorites, — and  he  gathered  them 
quickly  yet  tenderly,  murmuring  as  he  did  so,  "  Yes,  you 
must  all  die  ;  but  death  does  not  hurt ;  no !  life  hurts,  but- 
net  death  1  See!  as  I  pluck  you,  you  all  grow  wings  and 
fly  away — away  to  other  meadows,  and  bloom  again."  He 
paused,  and  a  puzzled  look  came  into  his  eyes.  He  turned 
toward  Thelma,  who  had  seated  herself  on  a  little  knoll 
just  above  the  stream,  "  Tell  me,  mistress,"  he  said,  "  do  the 
flowers  go  to  heaven  ?  " 

She  smiled.  "  I  think  so,  dear  Sigurd,"  she  said ;  "  I 
hope  so !  I  am  almost  sure  they  do." 

Sigurd  nodded  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"  That  is  right,"  he  observed.  "  It  would  never*  do  to 
ieave  them  behind,  you  know !  They  would  be  missed,  and 

we  should  have  to  come  down  again  and  fetch  them " 

A  crackling  among  the  branches  of  some  trees  startled  him, 
— he  looked  round,  and  uttered  a  peculiar  cry  like  the  cry 
of  a  wild  animal,  and  exclaimed,  "  Spies,  spies !  ha  !  ha  1 
secret,  wicked  faces  that  are  afraid  to  show  themselves  I 
Come  out !  Mistress,  mistress  %  make  them  come  out  1 " 

Thelma  rose,  surprised  as  his  gesticulations,  and  came 
towards  him  ;  to  her  utter  astonishment  she  found  herself 
confronted  by  old  Lovisa  Elsland,  and  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dyceworthy's  servant,  Ulrika.  On  both  women's  faces 
there  was  a  curious  expression  of  mingled  fear,  triumph, 
and  malevolence.  Lovisa  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"  At  last !  "  she  croaked,  in  a  sort  of  slow,  monotonous 
tone.  "  At  last,  Thelma  Giildmar,  the  Lord  has  delivered 
you  into  my  hands !  " 

Thelma  drew  Sigurd  close  to  her,  and  slipped  one  arm 
around  him. 

"Poor  soul!"  she  said  softly,  with  sweet  pitying  eyes 
fixed  fearlessly  on  the  old  hag's  withered,  evil  visage. 
"  You  must  be  tired,  wandering  about  on  the  hills  as  you 
dol  If  you  are  her  friend,"  she  added,  addressing  Ulrika, 
*  why  do  you  not  make  her  rest  at  home  and  keep  warm  ? 
She  is  so  old  and  feeble !  " 

"  Feeble !  "  shrieked  Lovisa ;  "  feeble !  "  And  she  seemed 
choking  with  passion.  "  If  I  had  my  fingers  at  your 

".hroat,  you  should  then  see  if  I  am  feeble  1    I 

13 


194  THELMA. 

pulled  her  by  he  arm,  and  whispered  something  which  had 
the  effect  of  calming  her  a  little.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  you 
speak  then !  I  can  wait !  " 

Ulrika  cleared  her  husky  voice,  and  fixed  her  dull  eyes 
on  the  girl's  radiant  countenance. 

"  You  must  go  away,"  she  said  coldly  and  briefly.  "  You 
and  your  father,  and  this  creature,"  and  she  pointed  con- 
temptuously to  the  staring  Sigurd.  "  Do  you  understand  ? 
You  must  leave  the  Altenfjord.  The  people  are  tired  of 
you — tired  of  bad  harvests,  ill-luck,  sickness,  and  continued 
poverty.  You  are  the  cause  of  all  our  miseries, — and  we 
have  resolved  you  shall  not  stay  among  us.  Go  quickly, — 
take  the  blight  and  pestilence  of  your  presence  elsewhere ' 
Go !  or  if  you  will  not " 

"  We  shall  burn,  burn,  burn,  and  utterly  destroy  !  "  in- 
terrupted  Lovisa,  with  a  sort  of  eldritch  shriek.  "  The 
Jt  £»*«ktrong  pine  rafters  of  Olaf  Giildmar's  dwelling  shall  be 
'  kindled  into  flame  to  light  the  hills  with  crimson,  far  and 
near !  Not  a  plank  shall  be  spared  1 — not  a  vestige  of  his 
pride  be  left " 

"  Stop !  "  said  Thelma  quietly.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? 
You  must  both  be  very  mad  or  very  wicked !  You  want 
us  to  go  away — you  threaten  to  set  fire  to  our  home — 
why  ?  We  have  done  you  no  harm.  Tell  me,  poor  soul !  " 
and  she  turned  with  queenly  forbearance  to  Lovisa,  "  is  it 
for  Britta's  sake  that  you  wrould  burn  the  house  she  lives 
in  ?  That  is  not  wise  1  You  cursed  me  the  other  day, — 
and  why  ?  '  What  have  I  done  that  you  should  hate  me  ?  " 

The  old  woman  regarded  her  with  steadfast,  cruel  eyes, 

"You  are  your  mother's  child  I"  she  said.  "I  hated 
her — I  hate  you  I  You  are  a  witch ! — the  village  knows  it 
— Mr.  Dyceworthy  knows  it !  Mr.  Dyceworthj''  says  we 
shall  be  justified  in  the  Lord's  sight  for  wreaking  evil  upon 
you  !  Evil,  evil  be  on  those  of  evil  deeds  !  " 

"  Then  shall  the  evil  fall  on  Mr.  Dyceworthy,"  said  the 
girl  calmly.  "  He  is  wicked  in  himself, — and  doubly  wicked 
to  encourage  yon  in  wickedness.  He  is  ignorant  and  false 
— why  do  you  believe  in  such  a  man  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  saint — a  saint  1  "  cried  Lovisa  wildly.  "  And 
shall  the  daughter  of  Satan  withstand  his  power  ?  "  And 
she  clapped  her  hands  in  a  sort  of  fierce  ecstasy. 

Thelma  glanced  at  her  pityingly  and  smiled.  "  A  saint ! 
Poor  thing,  how  little  3-011  know  him  !  "  she  said.  "  And  it 
is  a  pity  you  should  hate  me,  for  I  have  done  you  no 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  195 

wrong.  I  would  do  good  to  all  if  I  knew  how, — tell  me 
can  I  comfort  you,  or  make  your  life  more  cheerful  ?  It 
must  be  hard  to  be  so  old  and  all  alone !  " 

"  Your  death  would  comfort  me  !  "  returned  Lovisa 
grimly.  "  Why  do  you  keep  Britta  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  keep  her,"  Thelma  answered.  "  She  stays 
with  me  because  she  is  happy.  Why  do  you  grudge  her, 
her  happiness?  And  as  for  burning  my  father's  house, 
surely  you  would  not  do  so  wicked  and  foolish  a  thing  ! — 
but  still,  you  must  do  as  3rou  choose,  for  it  is  not  possible 
that  we  shall  leave  the  Altenfjord  to  please  you." 

Here  Ulrika  started  forward  angrily.  "  You  defy  us  1  " 
she  cried.  "You  will  not  go?"  And  in  her  excitement 
she  seized  Thelma's  arm  roughly. 

This  action  was  too  much  for  Sigurd ;  he  considered  it 
an  attack  on  the  person  of  his  beloved  mistress  and  he  re- 
sented it  at  once  in  his  own  fashion.  Throwing  himself  on 
Ulrika  with  sudden  ferocity,  he  pushed  and  beat  her  back 
as  though  he  were  a  wolf-hound  struggling  with  refractory 
prey ;  and  though  the  ancient  Lovisa  rushed  to  the  rescue, 
and  Thelma  imploringly  called  upon  her  zealous  champion 
to  desist, — all  remonstrances  were  unavailing,  till  Sigurd 
had  reduced  his  enemy  to  the  most  abject  and  whimpering 
terror. 

"  A  demon — a  demon  1 "  she  sobbed  and  moaned,  as  the 
valiant  dwarf  at  last  released  her  from  his  clutches ;  and, 
tossing  his  long,  fair  locks  over  his  misshapen  shoulders, 
laughed  loudly  and  triumphantly  with  delight  at  his  vic- 
tory. "  Lovisa !  Lovisa  Elsland !  this  is  your  doing  ;  you 
brought  this  upon  me !  I  may  die  now,  and  you  will  not 
care !  0  Lord,  Lord,  have  mercy 

Suddenly  she  stopped  ;  her  eyes  dilated, — her  face  grew 
grey  with  the  sickening  pallor  of  fear.  Slowly  she  raised 
her  hand  and  pointed  to  Sigurd — his  fantastic  dress  had  be- 
come disordered  in  the  affray,  and  his  jacket  was  torn  open, 
— and  on  his  bare  chest  a  long  red  scar  in  the  shape  of  a 
cross  was  distinctly  visible.  "  That  scar  1 "  she  muttered. 
u  How  did  he  get  that  scar  ?  " 

Lovisa  stared  at  her  in  impatient  derision.  Thelma  was 
too  surprised  to  answer  immediately,  and  Sigurd  took  it 
upon  himself  to  furnish  what  he  considered  a  crushing  re- 

piy. 

"  Odin's  mark  1  "  he  said,  patting  the  scar  with  much 
elation.  "  No  wonder  you  are  afraid  of  it !  Everybody 


196  THELMA. 

knows  it — birds,  flowers,  trees,  and  stars  !  Even  you — you 
are  afraid ! " 

And  he  laughed  again,  and  snapped  his  fingers  in  her 
face.  The  woman  shuddered  violently.  Step  by  step  she 
drew  near  to  the  wondering  Thelma,  and  spoke  in  low  and 
trembling  accents,  without  a  trace  of  her  former  anger. 

"  T!  ey  say  you  are  wicked,"  she  said  slowly, "and  that 
the  devil  has  your  soul  ready,  before  you  are  dead  !  But 
I  am  notafrp.id  of  you.  No;  I  will  forgive  3rou,  and  pray 
for  you,  if  you  will  tell  me,  .  .  ."  She  paused,  and  then 
continued,  as  with  a  strong  effort.  "  Yes — tell  me  who  is 
this  Sigurd  ?  " 

"  Sigurd  is  a  foundling,"  answered  Thelma  simply.  "  He 
was  floating  about  in  th£  Fjord  in  a  basket,  and  my  father 
saved  him.  He  was  quite  a  baby.  He  had  this  scar  on  his 
chest  then.  He  has  lived  with  us  ever  since." 

Ulrika  looked  at  her  searchingly, — then  bent  her  head, — 
whether  in  gratitude  or  despair  it  was  difficult  to  say. 

"  Lovisa  Elsland,"  she  said  monotonously,  "  I  am  going 
home.  I  cannot  help  you  any  longer !  I  am  tired — ill." 
Here  she  suddenly  broke  down,  and,  throwing  up  her  arms 
with  a  wild  gesture,  she  cried,  "  0  God,  God  !  O  God !  " 
and  burst  into  a  stormy  passion  of  sobs  and  tears. 

Thelma,  touched  by  her  utter  misery,  would  have  offered 
consolation,  but  Lovisa  repelled  her  with  a  fierce  gesture. 

"  Go  !  "  said  the  old  woman  harshly.  "  You  have  cast 
your  spells  upon  her — I  am  witness  of  your  work  !  And  shall 
you  escape  just  punishment  ?  No ;  not  while  there  is  a  God 
in  heaven,  and  I,  Lovisa  Elsland,  live  to  perform  His  bid- 
ding !  Go, — white  devil  that  you  are  ! — go  and  carry  mis- 
fortune upon  misfortune  to  your  fine  gentleman-lover! 
Ah  ! "  and  she  chuckled  maliciously  as  the  girl  recoiled 
from  her,  her  proud  face  growing  suddenly  paler,  "  have  I 
touched  you  there  ?  Lie  in  his  breast,  and  it  shall  be  as 
though  a  serpent  stung  him, — kiss  his  lips,  and  your  touch 
shall  be  poison, — live  in  doubt,  and  die  in  misery  !  Go !  and 
may  all  evil  follow  you  !  " 

She  raised  her  staff  and  waved  it  majestically,  as  though 
she  drew  a  circle  in  the  air, — Thelma  smiled  pitj'ingly,  but 
deigned  no  answer  to  her  wild  ravings. 

"  Come,  Sigurd  !  "  she  said  simply,  "  let  us  return  home. 
It  is  growing  late — father  will  wonder  where  we  are." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Sigurd,  seizing  the  basket  full  of  the 
pausies  he  had  plucked.  "  The  sunshine  is  slipping  away, 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  197 

and  we  cannot  live  with  shadows !  These  are  not  real 
women,  mistress  ;  they  are  dreams — black  dreams, — 1  have 
often  fought  with  dreams,  and  I  know  how  to  make  them 
afraid  !  See  how  the  one  weeps  because  she  knows  me, — 
and  the  other  is  just  going  to  fall  into  a  grave.  I  can  hear 
the  clods  thrown  on  her  head — thump — thump  !  It  does  not 
take  long  to  bury  a  dream  1  Come,  mistress,  let  us  follow 
the  sunshine !  " 

And,  taking  the  hand  she  extended  towards  him,  he 
turned  away,  looking  back  once,  however,  to  call  out 
loudly — 

"  Good-b}'e,  bad  dreams  1  " 

As  they  disappeared  behind  the  trees,  Lovisa  turned 
angrily  to  the  still-sobbing  Ulrika. 

"  What  is  this  folly  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  striking  her  staff 
fiercely  into  the  ground.  "  Art  mad  or  bewitched?" 

Ulrika  looked  up, — her  plain  face  swollen  and  stained 
with  weeping. 

"  0  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me !  O  Lord,  forgive  me  1  " 
she  moaned.  "  I  did  not  know  it — how  could  I  know  ?  " 

Lovisa  grew  so  impatient  that  she  seized  her  by  the 
shoulder  and  shook  her  violently. 

"  Know  what  ?  "  she  cried  ;  "  know  what  ?  " 

"  Sigurd  is  my  son  !  "  said  Ulrika,  with  a  sort  of  solemn 
resignation, — then,  with  a  sudden  gesture,  she  threw  her 
hands  above  her  head,  crying,  "My  son,  my  son!  The 
child  I  thought  I  had  killed  1  The  Lord  be  praised  I  did 
not  murder  him  !  " 

Lovisa  Elsland  seemed  stupefied  with  surprise.  "  Is  this 
the  truth  ? "  she  asked  at  last,  slowly  and  incredulously. 

"  The  truth,  the  truth  !  "  cried  Ulrika  passionately.  "  It 
is  alwa}'s  the  truth  that  conies  to  light !  He  is  my  child,  I 
tell  you  1  ...  I  gave  him  that  scar !  "  She  paused, 
shuddering,  and  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  tried  to  kill 
him  with  a  knife,  but  when  the  blood  flowed,  it  sickened  me, 
and  I  could  not !  He  was  an  infant  abortion — the  evil 
fruit  of  an  evil  deed — and  I  threw  him  out  to  the  waves, — 
as  I  told  you,  long  ago.  You  have  had  good  use  of  my 
confession,  Lovisa  Elsland ;  you  have  held  me  in  your 
power  by  means  of  my  secret,  but  now — " 

The  old  woman  interrupted  her  with  a  low  laugh  of  con- 
tempt  and  malice. 

"  As  the  parents  are,  so  are  the  children  !  "  she  said  scorn- 


198  THELMA. 

fully.  "  Your  lover  must  have  been  a  fine  man,  Ulrika,  if 
the  son  is  like  his  father !  " 

Ulrika  glared  at  her  vengefully ,  then  drew  herself  up  with 
an  air  of  defiance. 

"  I  care  nothing  for  your  taunts,  Lovisa  Elsland  !  "  she 
said.  "  You  can  do  me  no  harm  !  All  is  over  between  us  I 
I  will  help  in  no  mischief  against  the  Giildmars.  What- 
ever their  faults,  they  saved — my  child  !  " 

"  Is  that  so  great  a  blessing  ?  "  asked  Lovisa  ironically, 

"  It  makes  your  threats  useless,"  answered  Ulrika.  "  You 
cannot  call  me  murderess  again  !  " 

"  Coward  and  fool !  "  shrieked  Lovisa.  "  Was  it  your  in- 
tent that  the  child  should  live  ?  Were  you  not  glad  to  think 
it  dead  ?  And  cannot  I  spread  the  story  of  }-our  infamy 
through  all  the  villages  where  you  are  known  ?  Is  not  the 
wretched  boy  himself  a  living  witness  of  the  attempt  you 
made  to  kill  him  ?  Does  not  that  scar  speak  against  you  ? 
Would  not  Olaf  Giildmar  relate  the  story  of  the  child's 
rescue  to  any  one  that  asked  him  ?  Would  you  like  all  Bose- 
kop  to  know  of  your  intrigue  with  an  escaped  criminal,  who 
was  afterwards  caught  and  hung !  The  virtuous  Ulrika — 
the  zealous  servant  of  the  Gospel — the  pious,  praying 
Ulrika  1  "  and  the  old  woman  trembled  with  rage  and  ex- 
citement. "  Out  of  my  power  ?  Never,  never  !  As  long  as 
there  is  breath  in  my  body  I  will  hold  you  down  !  Not  a 
murderess,  you  say ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Ulrika  very  calmly,  with  a  keen  look,  "  I  am 
not — but  you  are  J  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  II  n'y  a  personne  qni  ait  eu  autant  a  sonffrir  a  votre  snjet  que 
raoi  depuis  ma  naissance !  aussi  je  vctis  supplie  d  deux  genoux  et  au 
nom  de  Dieu.  d'avoir  piti6  de  rnoi !  " — Old  Breton  Ballad. 

IN  a  few  more  days  Thelma's  engagement  to  Sir  Philip 
Bruce-Errington  was  the  talk  of  the  neighborhood.  The 
news  spread  gradually,  having  been,  in  the  first  place, 
started  by  Britta,  whose  triumph  in  her  mistress's  happi- 
ness was  charming  to  witness.  It  reached  the  astonished 
and  reluctant  ears  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  whose 
rage  was  so  great  that  it  destroyed  his  appetite  for  twenty- 
four  hours.  But  the  general  impression  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, where  superstition  maintained  so  strong  a  hold  on  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  19& 

primitive  and  prejudiced  minds  of  the  people,  was  that  the 
reckless  young  Englishman  would  rue  the  day  on  which  he 
wedded  "  the  white  witch  of  the  Altenfjord." 

Giildmar  was  regarded  with  more  suspicion  than  ever,  as 
having  used  some  secret  and  diabolical  influence  to  promote 
the  match  ;  and  the  whole  party  were,  as  it  seemed,  tabooed, 
and  looked  upon  as  given  up  to  the  most  unholy  practices. 

Needless  to  say,  the  opinions  of  the  villagers  had  no 
effect  whatever  on  the  good  spirits  of  those  who  were  thus 
unfavorably  criticised,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
find  a  merrier  group  than  that  assembled  one  fine  morning 
in  front  of  Guldmar's  house,  all  equipped  from  top  to  toe 
for  some  evidently  unusually  lengthy  and  arduous  mountain 
excursion.  Each  man  carried  a  long,  stout  stick,  portable 
flask,  knapsack,  and  rug — the  latter  two  articles  strapped 
together  and  slung  across  the  shoulder — and  they  all  pre- 
sented an  eminently  picturesque  appearance,  particularly 
Sigurd,  who  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  the  others,  lean- 
ing on  his  tall  staff  and  gazing  at  Thelma  with  an  air  of 
peculiar  pensiveness  and  abstraction. 

She  was  at  that  moment  busied  in  adjusting  Errington's 
knapsack  more  comfortably,  her  fair,  laughing  face  turned 
up  to  his,  and  her  bright  eyes  alight  with  love  and  tender 
solicitude. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  not  to  go  at  all,"  he  whispered  in  her 
ear.  "  I'll  come  back  and  stay  with  you  all  day." 

"  You  foolish  boy  1  "  she  answered  merrily.  "  You  would 
miss  seeing  the  grand  fall — all  for  what  ?  To  sit  with  me 
and  watch  me  spinning,  and  you  would  grow  so  very  sleepy  1 
Now,  if  I  were  a  man,  I  would  go  with  you." 

"  I'm  very  glad  you're  not  a  man !  "  said  Errington, 
pressing  the  little  hand  that  had  just  buckled  his  shoulder- 
strap.  "  Though  I  wish  you  were  going  with  us.  But  I 
say,  Thelma,  darling,  won't  you  be  lonely  ?  " 

She  laughed  gaily.  "  Lonely  ?  I !  Why,  Britta  is  with 
me — besides,  I  am  never  lonely  now."  She  uttered  the  last 
word  softly,  with  a  shy,  upward  glance.  "  I  have  so  much 

to  think  about "  She  paused  and  drew  her  hand 

away  from  her  lover's  close  clasp.  "  Ah,"  she  resumed, 
with  a  mischievous  smile,  "  you  are  a  conceited  boy  I  You 
want  to  be  missed !  You  wish  me  to  say  that  I  shall  feel 
most  miserable  all  the  time  you  are  away  I  If  I  do,  I  shall 
not  tell  you  !  " 

"  Thelma,  child  ?  "  called  Olaf  Giildmar,  at  this  juncture, 


200  THELMA. 

"  keep  the  gates  bolted  and  doors  barred  while  we  are  ab- 
sent. Remember,  thou  and  Britta  ni'ist  pass  the  night 
alone  here, — we  cannot  be  at  home  ti1  late  in  the  evening  of 
to-morrow.  Let  no  one  inside  tho  garden,  and  deny  thyself 
to  all  comers.  Dost  thou  hear  ' 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  responded  meekly. 

"  And  let  Britta  keep  goo'1  g  'ard  that  her  crazy  hag  of 
a  grandam  come  not  hither  to  disturb  or  fright  thee  with 
her  croaking, — for  thou  hast  not  even  Sigurd  to  protect 
thee." 

"  Not  even  Sigurd  !  "  said  that  personage,  with  a  medita- 
tive smile.  "  No,  mistress  ;  not  even  poor  Sigurd ! " 

"  One  of  us  might  remain  behind,"  suggested  Lorimer, 
with  a  side-look  at  his  friend. 

"  Oh  no,  no !  "  exclaimed  Thelma  anxiously.  "  It  would 
vex  me  so  much  !  Britta  and  I  have  often  been  alone  be- 
fore. We  are  quite  safe,  are  we  not,  father  ?  " 

"  Safe  enough  1 "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
know  of  no  one  save  Lovisa  Elsland  who  has  the  courage 
to  face  thee,  child  !  Still,  pretty  witch  as  thou  art,  'twill 
not  harm  thee  to  put  the  iron  bar  across  the  house  door, 
and  to  lock  fast  the  outer  gate  when  we  have  gone.  This 
done,  I  have  no  fear  of  thy  safety.  Now,"  and  he  kissed 
his  daughter  heartily,  "  now  lads,  'tis  time  we  were  on  the 
march !  Sigurd,  my  bojr,  lead  on  !  " 

"  Wait  1 "  cried  Sigurd,  springing  to  Thelma's  side.  "  I 
must  say  good-bye  I '  And  he  caught  the  girl's  hand  and 
kissed  it, — then  plucking  a  rose,  he  left  it  between  her  fin- 
gers. "  That  will  remind  you  of  Sigurd,  mistress  !  Think 
of  him  once  to-day  ! — once  again  when  the  midnight  glory 
shines.  Good-bye,  mistress  !  that  is  what  the  dead  say,  . 

.     .     Good-bye !  " 

And  with  a  passionate  gesture  of  farewell,  he  ran  and 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  little  group  that  waited 
for  him,  saying  exultingly — 

"  Now  follow  me !  Sigurd  knows  the  way !  Sigurd  is 
the  friend  of  all  the  wild  waterfall !  Up  the  hills, — across 
the  leaping  stream, — through  the  sparkling  foam  !  "  And 
lie  began  chanting  to  himself  a  sort  of  wild  mountain  song. 

Macfarlane  looked  at  him  dubiously.  "  Are  ye  sure?" 
he  said  to  Giildmar.  "  Are  ye  sure  that  wee  chap  kens 
whaur  he's  gaun  ?  He'll  no  lead  us  into  a  ditch  an'  leave 
us  there,  mistakm'  it  for  the  Fall  ?  " 

Giildmar  laughed  heartily.     "  Never  fear  !     Sigurd's  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  201 

best  guide  you  can  have,  in  spite  of  bis  fancies.  He  knows 
all  the  safest  and  surest  paths  ;  and  Njedegorze  is  no  easy 
place  to  reach,  I  can  tell  you  !  " 

"  Pardon  !     How  is  it  called  ? "  asked  Duprez  eagerly. 

"  Njedegorze." 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  give  it 
up!  "  he  said  smilingly.  "  Mademoiselle  Giildmar,  if  any- 
thing happens  to  me  at  this  cascade  with  the  name  unpn> 
nounceable,  you  will  again  be  my  doctor,  will  you  not  ?  " 

Thelma  laughed  as  she  shook  hands  with  him.  "  Nothing 
will  happen,"  she  rejoined  ;  "  unless,  indeed,  you  catch  cold 
by  sleeping  in  a  hut  all  night.  Father,  you  must  see  that 
they  do  not  catch  cold  !  " 

The  bonde  nodded,  and  motioned  the  party  forward, 
Sigurd  leading  the  way, — Errington,  however,  lingered  be- 
hind on  pretense  of  having  forgotten  something,  and,  draw- 
ing his  betrothed  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  fondly. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  darling !  "  he  murmured, — and 
then  hurrying  away  he  rejoined  his  friends,  who  had  dis- 
creetly refrained  from  looking  back,  and  therefore  had  not 
seen  the  lovers  embrace. 

Sigurd,  however,  had  seen  it,  and  the  sighu  apparently 
gave  fresh  impetus  to  his  movements,  for  he  sprang  up  the 
adjacent  hill  with  so  much  velocity  that  those  who  followed 
had  some  difficulty  to  keep  up  with  him, — and  it  was  not  till 
they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  farmhouse  that  he  resumed 
anything  like  a  reasonable  pace. 

As  soon  as  they  had  disappeared,  Thelma  turned  into  the 
house  and  seated  herself  at  her  spinning-wheel.  Bnttasoon 
entered  the  room,  carrying  the  same  graceful  implement  of 
industry,  and  the  two  maidens  sat  together  for  some  time 
in  a  silence  unbroken,  save  by  the  low  melodious  whirring 
of  the  two  wheels,  and  the  mellow  complaints  of  the  strut- 
ting doves  on  the  window-sill. 

"  Frb'ken  Thelma !  "  said  Britta  at  last,  timidly. 

"  Yes,  Britta  ?  "  And  her  mistress  looked  up  inquir- 
ingly- 

"  Of  what  use  is  it  for  you  to  spin  now  ?  "  queried  the 
little  handmaid.  "  You  will  be  'a  great  lady,  and  great 
ladies  do  not  work  at  all !  " 

Thelma's  wheel  revolved  more  and  more  slowly,  till  at 
last  it  stopped  altogether. 

"  Do  they  not  ? "  she  said  half  inquiringly  and  musingly. 
"  I  think  you  must  be  wrong,  Britta.  It  is  impossible  that 


202  THELMA. 

there  should  be  people  who  are  always  idle.  I  do  not  know 
what  great  ladies  are  like." 

"  I  do  I  "  And  Britta  nodded  her  curly  head  sagaciously. 
"  There  was  a  girl  from  Hammerfest  who  went  to  Chris- 
tiania  to  seek  service — she  was  handy  at  her  needle,  and  a 
fine  spinner,  and  a  great  lady  took  her  right  away  from 
Norway  to  London.  And  the  lady  bought  her  spinning- 
wheel  for  a  curiosity  she  said, — and  put  it  in  the  corner  of 
a  large  parlor,  and  used  to  show  it  to  her  friends,  and  they 
would  all  laugh  and  say, '  How  pretty  I '  And  Jansena, — 
that  was  the  girl — never  span  again — she  wore  linen  that 
she  got  from  the  shops, — and  it  was  always  falling  into 
holes,  and  Jansena  was  always  mending,  mending,  and  it 
was  no  good  !  " 

Thelma  laughed.  "  Then  it  is  better  to  spin,  after  all, 
Britta — is  it  not  ?  " 

Britta  looked  dubious.  "  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered  ; 
"  but  I  am  sure  great  ladies  do  not  spin.  Because,  as  I 
said  to  you,  Froken,  this  Jansena's  mistress  was  a  great 
lady,  and  she  never  did  anything, — no !  nothing  at  all, — 
but  she  put  on  wonderful  dresses,  and  sat  in  her  room,  or 
was  driven  about  in  a  carriage.  And  that  is  what  you  will 
do  also,  Froken !  " 

"  Oh  no,  Britta,"  said  Thelma  decisively.  "  I  could  not 
be  so  idle.  Is  it  not  fortunate  I  have  so  much  linen  ready  ? 
I  have  quite  enough  for  marriage." 

The  little  maid  looked  wistful.  "  Yes,  dear  Froken," 
she  murmured  hesitatingly  ;  "  but  I  was  thinking  if  it  is 
right  for  you  to  wear  what  you  have  spun.  Because,  you 
see,  Jansena's  mistress  had  wonderful  things  all  trimmed 
with  lace, — and  they  would  all  come  back  from  the  washing 
torn  and  hanging  in  threads,  and  Jansena  had  to  mend 
those  as  well  as  her  own  clothes.  You  see,  they  do  not 
last  at  all — and  they  cost  a  large  sum  of  money  ;  but  it  is 
proper  for  great  ladies  to  wear  them." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,  Britta,"  said  Thelma,  still  mus- 
ingly. "  But  still,  it  may  be — my  bridal  things  may  not 
please  Philip.  If  you  know  anything  about  it,  you  must 
tell  me  what  is  right." 

Britta  was  in  a  little  perplexity.  She  had  gathered 
some  idea  from  her  friend  Jansena  concerning  life  in  Lon- 
don,— she  had  even  a  misty  notion  of  what  was  meant  by  a 
"  trousseau  "  with  all  its  dainty,  expensive,  and  often  use- 
less fripperies ;  but  she  did  not  know  how  to  explain  her- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  203 

self  to  her  young  mistress,  whose  simple,  almost  severe 
tastes  would,  she  instinctively  felt,  recoil  from  anything 
like  ostentation  in  dress,  so  she  was  discreetly  silent. 

"  You  know,  Britta,"  continued  Thelma  gently,  "  I  shall 
be  Philip's  wife,  and  I  must  not  vex  him  in  any  little 
thing.  But  I  do  not  quite  understand.  I  have  always 
dressed  in  the  same  way, — and  he  has  never  said  that  he 
thought  me  wrongly  clothed." 

And  she  looked  down  with  quite  a  touching  pathos  at 
her  straight,  white  woolen  gown,  and  smoothed  its  folds 
doubtfully.  The  impulsive  Britta  sprang  to  her  side  and 
kissed  her  with  girlish  and  unaffected  enthusiasm. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear !  You  are  more  lovely  and  sweet 
than  anybody  in  the  world !  "  she  cried.  "  And  I  am  sure 
Sir  Philip  thinks  so  too !  " 

A  beautiful  roseate  flush  suffused  Thelma's  cheeks,  and 
she  smiled. 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  does  !  "  she  replied  softly.  "  And, 
after  all,  it  does  not  matter  what  one  wears." 

Britta  was  meditating, — she  looked  lovingly  at  her  mis- 
tress's  rippling  wealth  of  hair. 

"  Diamonds!  "  she  murmured  to  herself  in  a  sort  of  satis- 
fied soliloquy.  "  Diamonds,  like  those  you  have  on  your 
finger,  Frb'ken, — diamonds  all  scattered  among  your  curls 
like  dew-drops  !  And  white  satin,  all  shining,  shining  1 — 
people  would  take  you  for  an  angel !  " 

Thelma  laughed  merrily.  "  Britta,  Britta  !  You  are 
talking  such  nonsense !  Nobody  dresses  so  grandly  ex- 
cept queens  in  fairy-tales." 

"  Do  they  not  ?  "  and  the  wise  Britta  looked  more  pro- 
found than  ever.  "  Well,  we  shall  see,  dear  Froken — we 
shall  see !  " 

"  We  ?  "  queried  Thelma  with  surprised  emphasis. 

Her  little  maid  blushed  vividly,  and  looked  down  de- 
murely, twisting  and  untwisting  the  string  of  her  apron. 

"  Yes,  Froken,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  have  asked 
Sir  Philip  to  let  me  go  with  you  when  you  leave  Norway." 

"  Britta  !  "  Thelma's  astonishment  was  too  great  for 
more  than  this  exclamation. 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  don't  be  angry  with  me ! "  implored 
Britta,  with  sparkling  eyes,  rosy  cheeks,  and  excited 
tongue  all  pleading  eloquently  together,  "  I  should  die  here 
without  you !  I  told  the  bonde  so ;  I  did,  indeed  !  And 
then  I  went  to  Sir  Philip — he  is  such  a  grand  gentleman, — 


204  THELMA. 

so  proud  and  yet  so  kind, — and  I  asked  him  to  let  me  still 
be  your  servant.  I  said  I  knew  all  great  ladies  bad  a  maid, 
and  if  I  was  not  clever  enough  I  could  learn,  and — and — " 
here  Britta  began  to  sob,  "  I  said  I  did  not  want  any  wages 
— only  to  live  in  a  little  corner  of  the  same  house  where  you 
were, — to  sew  for  you,  and  see  you,  and  hear  your  voice 

sometimes "  Here  the  poor  little  maiden  broke  down 

altogether  and  hid  her  face  in  her  apron  crying  bitterly. 

The  tears  were  in  Thelma's  eyes  too,  and  she  hastened  to 
put  her  arm  round  Britta's  waist,  and  tried  to  soothe  her 
by  every  loving  word  she  could  think  of. 

"  Hush,  Britta  dear  !  you  must  not  cry,"  she  said  ten- 
derly. "  What  did  Philip  say  ?  " 

"  He  said,"  jerked  out  Britta  convulsively,  "  that  I  was  a 
g-good  little  g-girl,  and  that  he  was  g-giad  I  wanted  to 
g-go !  "  Here  her  two  sparkling  wet  eyes  peeped  out  of  the 
apron  inquiringly,  and  seeing  nothing  but  the  sweetest  af- 
fection on  Thelma's  attentive  face,  she  went  on  more  stead- 
ily. "  He  p-pinched  my  cheek,  and  he  laughed — and  he 
said  he  would  rather  have  me  for  your  maid  than  anybody 
—there !  " 

And  this  last  exclamation  was  uttered  with  so  much  de- 
fiance that  she  dashed  away  the  apron  altogether,  and  stood 
erect  in  self-congratulatoiy  glory,  with  a  particularly  red 
little  nose  and  very  trembling  lips.  Thelma  smiled,  and 
caressed  the  tumbled  brown  curls. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  Britta !  "  she  said  earnestly.  "  Noth- 
ing could  have  pleased  me  more !  I  must  thank  Philip. 
But  it  is  of  father  I  am  thinking — what  will  father  and 
Sigurd  do  ? " 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  settled,  Froken,"  said  Britta,  recovering 
herself  rapidly  from  her  outburst.  "  The  bonde  means  to 
go  for  one  of  his  long  voyages  in  the  Valkyrie — it  is  time 
she  was  used  again,  I'm  sure, — and  Sigurd  will  go  with 
him.  It  will  do  them  both  good — and  the  tongues  of  Bose- 
kop  can  waggle  as  much  as  they  please,  none  of  us  will  be 
here  to  mind  them  !  " 

"  And  you  will  escape  your  grandmother !  "  said  Thelma 
amusedly,  as  she  once  more  set  her  spinning-wheel  in  mo- 
tion. 

Britta  laughed  delightedly.  "  Yes  !  she  will  not  find  her 
way  to  England  without  some  trouble  I  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Oh,  how  happy  I  shall  be  1  And  you " — she  looked 


THE  LAND  OP  THE  MlDXlGttT  SUN.  205 

pleadingly  at  her  mistress — "  you  do  not  dislike  me  for 
your  servant  ?  " 

"  Dislike !  "  and  Thelma  gave  her  a  glance  of  mingled 
reproach  and  tenderness.  u  You  know  how  fond  I  am  of 
you,  Britta  !  It  will  be  like  having  a  little  bit  of  my  old 
home  always  with  me." 

Silently  Britta  kissed  her  hand,  and  then  resumed  her 
work.  The  monotonous  murmur  of  the  two  wheels  recom- 
menced,— this  time  pleasantly  accompanied  by  the  rippling 
chatter  of  the  two  girls,  who,  after  the  fashion  of  girls  all 
the  world  over,  indulged  in  many  speculations  as  to  the 
new  and  strange  life  that  lay  before  them. 

Their  ideas  were  of  the  most  primitive  character, — Britta 
had  never  been  out  of  Norway,  and  Thelma's  experiences, 
apart  from  her  home  life,  extended  merely  to  the  narrow 
and  restricted  bounds  of  simple  and  severe  convent  disci- 
pline, where  she  had  been  taught  that  the  pomps  and  vani- 
ties of  the  world  were  foolish  and  transient  shows,  and  that 
nothing  could  please  God  more  than  purity  and  rectitude  of 
soul.  Her  character  was  formed,  and  set  upon  a  firm  basis 
— firmer  than  she  herself  was  conscious  of.  The  nuns  who 
had  been  entrusted  with  her  education  had  fulfilled  their 
task  with  more  than  their  customary  zeal — they  were  inter- 
ested in  the  beautiful  Norwegian  child  for  the  sake  of  her 
mother,  who  had  also  been  their  charge.  One  venerable 
nun  in  particular  had  bestowed  a  deep  and  lasting  benefit 
on  her,  for,  seeing  her  extraordinary  beauty,  and  forestall- 
ing the  dangers  and  temptations  into  which  the  possession 
of  such  exceptional  charms  might  lead  her,  she  adopted  a 
wise  preventive  course,  that  cased  her  as  it  were  in  armor, 
proof  against  all  the  assailments  of  flattery.  She  told  the 
girl  quite  plainty  that  she  was  beautiful, — but  at  the  same 
time  made  her  aware  that  beauty  was  common, — that  she 
shared  it  alike  with  birds,  flowers,  trees,  and  all  the  won- 
derful objects  of  nature — moreover,  that  it  was  nothing  to 
boast  of,  being  so  perishable. 

"  Suppose  a  rose  foolish  enough  to  boast  of  its  pretty 
leaves,"  said  the  gentle  religieuse  on  one  occasion.  "  They 
all  fall  to  the  ground  in  a  short  time,  and  become  decayed 
and  yellow — it  is  only  the  fragrance,  or  the  soul  of  the  rose 
that  lasts."  Such  precepts,  that  might  have  been  wasted 
on  a  less  sensitive  and  thoughtful  nature,  sank  deeply  into 
Thelma's  mind — she  accepted  them  not  only  in  theory  but 
in  practice,  and  the  result  was  that  she  accepted  her  beauty 


206  VHELMA. 

as  she  accepted  her  health, — as  a  mere  natural  occurrence— 
no  more.  She  was  taught  that  the  three  principal  virtues 
of  a  woman  were  chastity,  humility,  and  obedience, — these 
were  the  laws  of  God,  fixed  and  immutable,  which  no  one 
dared  break  without  committing  grievous  and  unpardonable 
sin.  So  she  thought,  and  according  to  her  thoughts  she 
lived.  What  a  strange  world,  then,  lay  before  her  in  the 
contemplated  change  that  was  about  to  take  place  in  the 
even  tenor  of  her  existence  !  A  world  of  intrigue  and  folly 
— a  world  of  infidelity  and  falsehood ! — how  would  she  meet 
it  ?  It  was  a  question  she  never  asked  herself — she  thought 
London  a  sort  of  magnified  Christiania,  or  at  best,  the 
Proven9al  town  of  Aries  on  a  larger  scale.  She  had  heard 
her  father  speak  of  it,  but  only  in  a  vague  way,  and  she 
had  been  able  to  form  no  just  idea  even  to  herself  of  the 
enormous  metropolis  crowded  to  excess  with  its  glad  and 
sorrowful,  busy  and  idle,  rich  and  poor  millions.  England 
itself  floated  before  her  fancy  as  a  green,  fertile,  embowered 
island  where  Shakespeare  had  lived — and  it  delighted  her 
to  know  that  her  future  home,  Errington  Manor,  was  situ- 
ated in  Warwickshire,  Shakespeare's  county.  Of  the  so- 
ciety that  awaited  her  she  had  no  notion, — she  was  pre- 
pared to  "  keep  house  "  for  her  husband  in  a  very  simple 
way — to  spin  his  household  linen,  to  spare  him  all  trouble 
and  expense,  and  to  devote  herself  body  and  soul  to  his 
service.  As  may  be  well  imagined,  the  pictures  she  drew 
of  her  future  married  life,  as  she  sat  and  span  with  Britta 
on  that  peaceful  afternoon,  were  widely  different  to  the  des- 
tined reality  that  every  day  approached  her  more  nearly. 

Meantime,  while  the  two  girls  were  at  home  and  undis- 
turbed in  the  quiet  farm  house,  the  mountaineering  party, 
headed  by  Sigurd,  were  well  on  their  way  towards  the  great 
Fall  of  Njedegorze.  They  had  made  a  toilsome  ascent  of 
the  hills  by  the  side  of  the  Alten  river — they  had  climbed 
over  craggy  boulders  and  slipper}'  rocks,  sometimes  wading 
knee-deep  in  the  stream,  or  pausing  to  rest  and  watch  the 
salmon  leap  and  turn  glittering  somersaults  in  the  air  close 
above  the  diamond-clear  water, — and  they  had  beguiled 
their  fatigue  with  songs  and  laughter,  and  the  telling  of  fan- 
tastic legends  and  stories  in  which  Sigurd  had  shone  at  his 
best — indeed,  this  unhappy  being  was  in  a  singularly  clear 
and  rational  frame  of  mind,  disposed,  too,  to  be  agreeable 
even  towards  Errington.  Lorimer,  who  for  reasons  of  his 
own,  had  kept  a  close  watch  on  Sigurd  ever  since  his 


THE  LAND  Of  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  207 

friend's  engagement  to  Thelma,  was  surprised  and  gratified 
at  this  change  in  his  former  behavior,  and  encouraged  him 
in-  it,  while  Errington  himself  responded  to  the  dwarfs 
proffered  friendship,  and  walked  beside  him,  chatting  cheer- 
fully, during  the  most  part  of  the  excursion  to  the  Fall. 
It  was  a  long  and  exceedingly  difficult  journey — and-  in 
some  parts  dangerous — but  Sigurd  proved  himself  worthy 
of  the  commendations  bestowed  on  him  by  the  bonde,  and 
guided  them  by  the  easiest  and  most  secure  paths,  till  at 
last,  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  they  heard  the 
rush  and  roar  of  the  rapids  below  the  Fall,  and  with  half 
an  hour's  more  exertion,  came  in  sight  of  them,  though  not 
as  yet  of  the  Fall  itself.  Yet  the  rapids  were  grand 
enough  to  merit  attention — and  the  whole  party  stopped  to 
gaze  on  the  whirling  wonders  of  water  that,  hissing  furi- 
ously, circled  round  and  round  giddily  in  wheels  of  white 
foam,  and  then,  as  though  enraged,  leaped  high  over 
obstructing  stones  and  branches,  and  rushed  onward  and 
downward  to  the  smoother  length  of  the  river. 

The  noise  was  deafening, — they  could  not  hear  each 
other  speak  unless  by  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
and  even  then  the  sounds  were  rendered  almost  indistinct 
by  the  riotous  uproar.  Sigurd,  however,  who  knew  all  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  place,  sprang  lightly  on  a  jutting  crag, 
and,  putting  both  hands  to  his  mouth,  uttered  a  peculiar, 
shrill,  and  far-reaching  cry.  Clear  above  the  turmoil  of  the 
restless  waters,  that  cry  was  echoed  back  eight  distinct 
times  from  the  surrounding  rocks  and  hills.  Sigurd 
laughed  triumphantly. 

"  You  see  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  resumed  his  leadership 
of  the  party,  "  they  all  know  me !  They  are  obliged  to 
answer  me  when  I  call — they  dare  not  disobey  !  "  And  his 
blue  eyes  flashed  with  that  sudden  wild  fire  that  generally 
foretold  some  access  of  his  particular  mania. 

Errington  saw  this  and  said  soothingly,  "  Of  course  not, 
Sigurd !  No  one  would  dream  of  disobeying  you  I  See 
how  we  follow  you  to-day — we  all  do  exactly  what  you  tell 
us." 

"  We  are  sheep,  Sigurd,"  added  Lorimer  lazily  ;  "  and 
you  are  the  shepherd  !  " 

Sigurd  looked  from  one  to  the  other  half  doubtingly, 
half  cunningly.  He  smiled. 

"  Yes  !  "  he  said.  "  You  will  follow  me,  will  you  not  ? 
Up  to  the  very  top  of  the  Fall  ?  " 


208  THELMA. 

"  By  all  means  !  "  answered  Sir  Philip  gaily.  "  Any. 
where  you  choose  to  go  !  " 

Sigurd  seemed  satisfied,  and  lapsing  into  the  calm,  com- 
posed manner  which  had  distinguished  him  all  day,  he  led 
the  way  as  before,  and  they  resumed  their  march,  this  time 
in  silence,  for  conversation  was  well-nigh  impossible.  The 
nearer  they  came  to  the  yet  invisible  Fall,  the  more  thun- 
derous grew  the  din — it  was  as  though  they  approached 
some  vast  battle-field,  where  opposing  armies  were  in  full 
action,  with  all  the  tumult  of  cannonade  and  musketry. 
The  ascent  grew  steeper  and  more  difficult — at  times  the 
high  barriers  of  rocks  seemed  almost  impassable, — often 
they  were  compelled  to  climb  over  confused  heaps  of  huge 
stones,  through  which  the  eddying  water  pushed  its  way 
with  speed  and  fury, — but  Sigurd's  precision  was  never  at 
fault, — he  leaped  crag  after  crag  swiftly  and  skillfully, 
always  lighting  on  a  sure  foothold,  and  guiding  the  others 
to  do  the  same.  At  last,  at  a  sharp  turn  of  one  of  these 
rocky  eminences,  they  perceived  an  enormous  cloud  of 
white  vapor  rising  up  like  smoke  from  the  earth,  and  twist- 
ing itself  as  it  rose,  in  swaying,  serpentine  folds,  as  though 
some  giant  spirit-hand  were  shaking  it  to  and  fro  like  a  long 
flowing  veil  in  the  air.  Sigurd  paused  and  pointed  forward. 

"  Njedegorze  !  "  he  cried. 

They  all  pressed  on  with  some  excitement.  The  ground 
x'ibrated  beneath  their  feet  with  the  shock  of  the  falling  tor- 
rent, and  the  clash  and  uproar  of  the  disputing  waters 
rolled  in  their  ears  like  the  grand,  sustained  bass  of  some 
huge  cathedral  organ.  Almost  blinded  by  the  spray  that 
dashed  its  disdainful  drops  in  their  faces,  deafened  by  the 
majestic,  loud,  and  ceaseless  eloquence  that  poured  its  per- 
suasive force  into  the  splitting  hearts  of  the  rocks  around 
them, — breathless  with  climbing,  and  well-nigh  tread  out, 
they  struggled  on,  and  broke  into  one  unanimous  shout  of 
delight  and  triumph  when  they  at  last  reached  the  small 
hut  that  had  been  erected  for  the  convenience  of  travellers 
who  might  choose  that  way  to  journey  to  the  Altenfjord, — 
and  stood  face  to  face  with  the  magnificent  cascade,  one  of 
the  grandest  in  Norway.  What  a  sublime  spectacle  it  was  I 
— that  tempest  of  water  sweeping  sheer  down  the  towering 
rocks  in  one  straight,  broad,  unbroken  sheet  of  foam !  A 
myriad  rainbows  flashed  in  the  torrent  and  vanished,  to  re- 
appear again  instantby  with  redoubled  lustre, — while  the 
glory  of  the  evening  sunlight  glittering  on  one  side  of  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  209 

fall  made  it  gleam  like  a  sparkling  shower  of  molten 
gold. 

"  Njedegorze  !  "  cried  Sigurd  again,  giving  a  singularly 
musical  pronunciation  to  the  apparently  uncouth  name. 
"  Come !  still  a  little  further, — to  the  top  of  the  Fall !  " 

Olaf  Giildmar,  however,  paid  no  attention  to  this  invita- 
tion. He  was  already  beginning  to  busy  himself  with  prep- 
arations for  passing  the  night  comfortably  in  the  hut  be- 
fore mentioned.  Stout  old  Norseman  as  he  was,  there  were 
limits  to  his  endurance,  and  the  arduous  exertions  of  the 
long  day  had  brought  fatigue  to  him  as  well  as  to  the  rest  of 
the  party. 

Macfarlane  was  particularly  exhausted.  His  frequent 
pulls  at  the  whiskey  flask  had  been  of  little  or  no  avail  as  a 
support  to  his  aching  limbs,  and,  now  he  had  reached  his 
destination,  he  threw  himself  full  length  on  the  turf  in  front 
of  the  hut  and  groaned  most  dismally. 

Lorimer  surveyed  him  amusedly,  and  stood  beside  him, 
the  very  picture  of  a  cool  young  Briton  whom  nothing 
could  possibly  discompose. 

"  Done  up — eh,  Sandy  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Done  up  !  "  growled  Macfarlane.  "  D'ye  think  I'm  a 
Norseman  or  a  jumping  Frenchy  ?  "  This  with  a  look  of 
positive  indignation  at  the  lively  Duprez,  who,  if  tired,  was 
probably  too  vain  to  admit  it,  for  he  was  strutting  aboutx 
giving  vent  to  his  genuine  admiration  of  the  scene  before 
him  with  the  utmost  freshness  and  enthusiasm.  "  I'm  just  a 
plain  Scotchman,  an'  no  such  a  fule  at  climbin'  either ! 
Why,  man,  I've  been  up  Goatfell  in  Arran,  an'  Ben  Lom- 
ond an'  Ben  Nevis — there's  a  mountain  for  ye,  if  ye  like! 
But  a  brae  like  this,  wi'  a'  the  stanes  lyin'  helter-skelter,  an' 
crags  that  ye  can  barely  hold  on  to — and  a  mad  chap 
guidin'  ye  on  at  the  speed  o'  a  leapin'  goat — I  tell  ye,  I 
havena  been  used  to't."  Here  he  drew  out  his  flask  and 
took  another  extensive  pull  at  it.  Then  he  added  suddenly, 
"  Just  look  at  Errington  !  He'll  be  in  a  fair  way  to  break 
his  neck  if  he  follows  yon  wee  crazy  loon  any  further." 

At  these  words  Lorimer  turned  sharply  round,  and  per- 
ceived his  friend  following  Sigurd  step  by  step  up  a  narrow 
footing  in  the  steep  ascent  of  some  rough,  irregular  crags 
that  ran  out  and  formed  a  narrow  ledge,  ending  in  a  sharp 
point,  Jutting  directly  over  the  full  fury  of  the  waterfall. 
He  watched  the  two  climbing  figures  for  an  instant  with- 
out any  anxiety, — then  he  suddenly  remembered  that  Philip 
14 


210  TBELMA. 

had  promised  to  go  with  Sigurd  "  to  the  top  of  the  Fail." 
Acting  on  a  rapid  impulse  which  he  did  not  stop  to  explain 
to  himself,  Lorimer  at  once  started  off  after  them, — but  the 
ascent  was  difficult ;  they  were  some  distance  ahead,  and 
though  he  shouted  vociferously,  the  roar  of  the  cascade  ren- 
dered his  voice  inaudible.  Gaining  on  them,  however,  by 
slow  degrees,  he  was  startled  when  all  at  once  they  disap- 
peared at  the  summit — and,  breathless  with  his  rapid 
climb,  he  paused,  bewildered.  By-and-by  he  saw  Sigurd 
creeping  cautiously  out  along  the  rocky  shelf  that  overhung 
the  tumbling  torrent — his  gaze  grew  riveted  with  a  sort  of 
deadly  fascination  on  the  spot. 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  muttered  under  his  breath.  "  Surely 
Phil  will  not  follow  him  there  !  " 

He  watched  with  strained  eyes, — and  a  smothered  cry 
escaped  him  as  Errington's  tall  figure,  erect  and  bold,  ap- 
peared on  that  narrow  and  dangerous  platform !  He  never 
knew  how  he  clambered  up  the  rest  of  the  slippery  ascent. 
A  double  energy  seemed  given  to  his  active  limbs.  He 
never  paused  again  for  one  second  till  he  also  stood  on  the 
platform,  without  being  heard  or  perceived  by  either  Si- 
gurd or  Philip.  Their  backs  were  turned  to  him,  and  he 
feared  to  move  or  speak,  lest  a  sudden  surprised  movement 
on  their  parts  should  have  the  fatal  result  of  precipitating 
one  or  both  into  the  fall.  He  remained,  therefore,  behind 
them,  silent  and  motionless, — looking,  as  they  looked,  at 
the  terrific  scene  below.  From  that  point,  Njedegorze  was 
as  a  huge  boiling  caldron,  from  which  arose  twisted  wreaths 
and  coiling  lengths  of  white  vapor,  faintly  colored  with  gold 
and  silvery  blue.  Dispersing  in  air,  these  mists  took  all 
manner  of  fantastic  forms, — ghostly  arms  seemed  to  wave 
and  beckon,  ghostly  hands  to  unite  in  prayer, — and  flutter- 
ing creatures  in  gossamer  draperies  of  green  and  crimson 
appeared  to  rise  and  float,  and  retire  and  shrink,  to  noth- 
ingness again  in  the  rainbow  drift  and  sweep  of  whirling 
foam.  Errington  gazed  unconcernedly  down  on  the  seeth- 
ing abyss.  He  pushed  back  his  cap  from  his  brow,  and  let 
the  fresh  wind  play  among  his  dark,  clustering  curls.  His 
nerves  were  steady,  and  he  surveyed  the  giddily  twisting 
wheels  of  shining  water,  without  any  corresponding  giddi- 
ness in  his  own  brain.  He  had  that  sincere  delight  in  a 
sublime  natural  spectacle,  which  is  the  heritage  of  all  who 
possess  a  poetic  and  artistic  temperament;  and  though  he 
stood  on  a  frail  ledge  of  rock,  from  which  one  false  or  un- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SWf.  211 

wary  step  might  send  him  to  certain  destruction,  he  had 
not  the  slightest  sense  of  possible  danger  in  his  position. 
Withdrawing  his  eyes  from  the  Fall,  he  looked  kindly  down 
at  Sigurd,  who  in  turn  was  staring  up  at  him  with  a  wild 
fixity  of  regard. 

"  Well,  old  boy,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  this  is  a  fine  sight ! 
Have  you  had  enough  of  it  ?  Shall  we  go  back  ?  " 

Sigurd  drew  imperceptibly  nearer.  Lorimer,  from  his 
point  of  vantage  behind  a  huge  bowlder,  drew  nearer  also. 

"Go  back?"  echoed  Sigurd.  "Why  should  we  go 
back  ?  " 

"Why,  indeed!"  laughed  Errington,  lightly  balancing 
himself  on  the  trembling  rocks  beneath  him.  "  Except 
that  I  should  scarcely  think  this  is  the  best  place  on  which 
to  pass  the  night !  Not  enough  room,  and  too  much  noise! 
What  say  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  brave,  brave,  fool !  "  cried  the  dwarf  in  sudden  ex- 
citement. "  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  " 

The  young  baronet's  keen  eyes  glanced  him  over  with 
amused  wonder. 

"What  of?"  he  demanded  coolly.  Still  nearer  came 
Sigurd — nearer  also  came  the  watchful,  though  almost  in- 
visible Lorimer. 

"  Look  down  there ! "  continued  Sigurd  in  shrill  tones, 
pointing  to  the  foaming  gulf.  "  Look  at  the  Elf-danz — 
see  the  beautiful  spirits  with  the  long  pale  green  hair  and 
glittering  wings  I  See  how  they  beckon,  beckon,  beckon  ! 
They  want  some  one  to  join  them — look  how  their  white 
arms  wave, — they  throw  back  their  golden  veils  and  smile 
at  us  !  They  call  to  you — you  with  the  strong  figure  and 
the  proud  e}-es — viby  do  you  not  go  to  them  ?  They  will 
kiss  and  caress  you — they  have  sweet  lips  and  snow-white 
bosoms, — they  will  love  you  and  take  care  of  you — they 
are  as  fair  as  Thelma  !  " 

"  Are  they  ?  I  doubt  it !  "  and  Errington  smiled  dream- 
ily as  he  turned  his  head  again  towards  the  fleecy  whirl  of 
white  water,  and  saw  at  once  with  an  artist's  quick  eye  what 
his  sick-brained  companion  meant  by  the  Elf-danz,  in  the  fan- 
tastic twisting,  gliding  shapes  tossed  up  in  the  vaporous 
mist  of  the  Fall.  "  But  I'll  take  your  word,  Sigurd,  with- 
out making  the  elves'  personal  acquaintance  !  Come  along 
— this  place  is  bad  for  you — we'll  dance  with  the  green- 
haired  nymphs  another  time." 

And  with  a  light  laugh,  be  was  about  to  turn  away,  when 


412  THELMA. 

he  was  surprised  by  a  sudden,  strange  convulsion  of  Sigurd's 
countenance — his  blue  eyes  flashed  with  an  almost  phos- 
phorescent lustre, — his  pale  skin  flushed  deeply  red,  and 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  started  into  swelled  and  knotted 
prominence. 

"  Another  time  !  "  he  screamed  loudly  ;  "  no,  no  !  Now — 
now !  Die,  robber  of  Thelma's  love !  Die — die — die  I  " 

Repeating  these  words  like  quick  gasps  of  fury,  he 
twisted  his  meager  arms  tightly  round  Errington,  and 
thrust  him  fiercely  with  all  his  might  towards  the  edge  of 
the  Fall.  For  one  second  Philip  strove  against  him — the 
next,  he  closed  his  e3res — Thelma's  face  smiled  on  his  mind 
in  that  darkness  as  though  in  white  farewell — the  surging 
blood  roared  in  his  ears  with  more  thunder  than  the  terrific 
tumble  of  the  torrent — "  God  !  "  he  muttered,  and  then — 
then  he  stood  safe  on  the  upper  part  of  the  rocky  platform 
with  Lorimer's  strong  hand  holding  him  in  a  vice-like 
grasp,  and  Lorimer's  face,  pale,  but  looking  cheerfully  into 
his.  For  a  moment  he  was  too  bewildered  to  speak.  His 
friend  loosened  him  and  laughed  rather  forcedly — a  slight 
tremble  of  his  lips  was  observable  under  his  fair  mous- 
tache. 

"  By  Jove,  Phil,"  he  remarked  in  his  usual  nonchalant 
manner,  "  that  was  rather  a  narrow  shave !  Fortunate  I 
happened  to  be  there !  " 

Errington  gazed  about  him  confusedly.  "  Where's  Si- 
gurd ? "  he  asked. 

"  Gone !  Ran  off  like  a  '  leapin'  goat,'  as  Sandy  ele- 
gantly describes  him.  I  thought  at  first  he  meant  to  jump 
over  the  Fall,  in  which  case  I  should  have  been  compelled 
to  let  him  have  his  own  way,  as  my  hands  were  full.  But 
he's  taken  a  safe  landward  direction." 

"  Didn't  he  try  to  push  me  over  ?  " 

"  Exactly !  He  was  quite  convinced  that  the  mermaids 
wanted  you.  But  I  considered  that  Miss  Thelma's  wishes 
had  a  prior  claim  on  my  regard." 

"  Look  here,  old  man,"  said  Errington  suddenly,"  don't 
jest  about  it !  You  saved  my  life !  " 

"  Well !  "  and  Lorimer  laughed.  "  Quite  by  accident,  I 
assure  you." 

"  Not  by  accident !  "  and  Philip  flushed  up,  looking  very 
handsome  and  earnest.  "  I  believe  you  followed  us  up  here 
thinking  something  might  happen.  Now  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Suppose  I  did,"  began  Lormier,  but  he  was  interrupted 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  213 

by  his  friend,  who  seized  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  with  a 
warm,  close,  affectionate  fervor.  Their  eyes  met — and 
Lorimer  blushed  as  though  he  had  performed  some  action 
meriting  blame  rather  than  gratitude!  "  That'll  do,  old 
fellow,"  he  said  almost  nervously.  "  As  we  say  in  pclite 
society  when  some  one  crushes  our  favorite  corn  under  his 
heel — don't  mention  it  1  You  see  Sigurd  is  cracked, — 
there's  not  the  slightest  doubt  about  that, — and  he's  hardly 
accountable  for  his  vagaries.  Then  I  know  something  about 
him  that  perhaps  you  don't.  He  loves  your  Thelma  !  " 

They  were  making  the  descent  of  the  rocks  together, 
and  Errington  stopped  short  in  surprise. 

"  Loves  Thelma  !     You  mean  as  a  brother " 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't !  I  mean  that  he  loves  her  as  brothers 
often  love  other  people's  sisters — his  affection  is  by  no 
means  fraternal — if  it  were  only  thai " 

"  I  see  I  "  and  Philip's  eyes  filled  with  a  look  of  grave 
compassion.  "  Poor  fellow  !  I  understand  his  hatred  of 
me  now.  Good  Heavens  !  how  he  must  suffer !  I  forgive 
him  with  all  my  heart.  But — I  say,  Thelma  has  no  idea 
of  this !  " 

"  Of  course  not.  And  ^you'd  better  not  tell  her.  What's 
the  good  of  making  her  unhappy  ?  " 

u  But  how  did  you  learn  it  ? "  inquired  Philip,  with  a 
look  of  some  curiosity  at  his  friend. 

"  Oh,  I !  "  and  Lormier  laughed  carelessly  ;  "  I  was  al- 
ways an  observing  sort  of  fellow — fond  of  putting  two  and 
two  together  and  making  four  of  them,  when  I  wasn't  too 
exhausted  and  the  weather  wasn't  too  hot  for  the  process. 
Sigurd's  rather  attached  to  me — indulges  me  with  some 
specially  private  ravings  now  and  then — I  soon  found  out 
his  secret,  though  I  believe  the  poor  little  chap  doesn't 
understand  his  own  feelings  himself." 

"  Well,"  said  Errington  thoughtfully,  "  under  the  cir- 
cumstances you'd  better  not  mention  this  affair  of  the  Fall 
to  Giildmar.  It  will  only  vex  him.  Sigurd  won't  try  such 
a  prank  again." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied  Lorimer  ;  "  but  you 
know  enough  now  to  be  on  your  guard  with  him."  He 
paused  and  looked  up  with  a  misty  softness  in  his  frank 
blue  eyes — then  went  on  in  a  subdued  tone — "  When  I  saw 

you  on  the  edge  of  that  frightful  chasm,  Phil "  He 

broke  off  as  if  the  recollection  were  too  painful,  and  ex- 
claimed suddenly — "  Good  God !  if  I  had  lost  you  1  " 


214  THELMA. 

Errington  clapped  one  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well !  What  if  you  had  ?  "  he  asked  almost  mirth- 
fully,  though  there  was  a  suspicious  tremble  in  his  ringing 
voice. 

"  I  should  have  said  with  Horatio, '  I  am  more  an  an- 
tique Roman  than  a  Dane,' — and  gone  after  you,"  laughed 
Lorimer.  "  And  who  knows  what  a  jolly  banquet  we 
mfght  not  have  been  enjoying  in  the  next  world  by  this 
time  ?  If  I  believe  in  anything  at  all,  I  believe  in  a  really 
agreeable  heaven — nectar  and  ambrosia,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  Hebes  to  wait  upon  3rou." 

As  he  spoke  they  reached  the  sheltering  hut,  where 
Giildmar,  Duprez,  and  Macfarlane  were  waiting  rather 
impatiently  for  them. 

"  Where's  Sigurd  ?  "  cried  the  bonde. 

"  Gone  for  a  ramble  on  his  own  account,"  answered  Er- 
rington readily.  "  You  know  his  fancies  !  " 

"  I  wish  his  fancies  would  leave  him,"  grumbled  Giild- 
mar. "  He  promised  to  light  a  fire  and  spread  the  meal — 
and  now,  who  knows  whither  he  has  wandered  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,  sir,"  said  Lorimer.  "  Engage  me  as  a 
kitchen-boy.  I  can  light  a  fire,  and  can  also  sit  beside  it 
when  it  is  properly  kindled.  More  I  cannot  promise.  As 
the  housemaids  say  when  they  object  to  assist  the  cook, — 
it  would  be  beneath  me." 

"  Cook !  "  cried  Duprez,  catching  at  this  word.  "  I  can 
cook  !  Give  me  aii3'tliing  to  broil.  I  will  broil  it !  You 
have  coffee — I  will  make  it  1  "  And  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  he  had  divested  himself  of  his  coat,  turned  up  his  cuff's, 
and  manufactured  the  cap  of  a  chef  out  of  a  newspaper 
which  he  stuck  jauntily  on  his  head.  "  Behold  me,  mes- 
sieurs, a  votre  service  !  " 

His  liveliness  was  infectious ;  they  all  set  to  work  with  a 
will,  and  in  a  few  moments  a  crackling  wood-fire  blazed 
cheerily  on  the  ground,  and  the  gipsy  preparations  for  the 
al  fresco  supper  wrent  on  apace  amid  peals  of  laughter. 
Soon  the  fragrance  of  steaming  coffee  arose  and  mingled 
itself  with  the  resinous  odors  of  the  surrounding  pine-trees, 
— while  Macfarlane  distinguished  himself  by  catching  a 
fine  salmon  trout  in  a  quiet  nook  of  the  rushing  river,  and 
this  Duprez  cooked  in  a  style  that  would  have  done  honor 
to  a  cordon  bleu.  They  made  an  excellent  meal,  and  sang 
songs  in  turn  and  told  stories, — Olaf  Giildmar,  in  particular, 
related  eerie  legends  of  the  Vovre-fjt'l'l*,  ami  many  a  .strik- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  215 

ing  history  of  ancient  origin,  full  of  terror  and  superstition, 
— concerning  witches,  devils,  and  spirits  both  good  and 
evil,  who  are  still  believed  to  have  their  abode  on  the  Nor- 
wegian hills, — for,  as  the  bonde  remarked  with  a  smile, 
"  when  civilization  has  driven  these  unearthty  beings  from 
every  other  refuge  in  the  world,  they  will  alwa}'s  be  sure 
of  a  welcome  in  Norway." 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  the}7  at  last  retired  within 
the  hut  to  rest  for  the  night,  and  the  errant  Sigurd  had  not 
returned.  The  sun  shone  brilliantly,  but  there  was  no 
window  to  the  small  shed,  and  light  and  air  came  only 
through  the  door,  which  was  left  wide  open.  The  tired 
travellers  lay  down  on  their  spread-out  rugs  and  blankets, 
and  wishing  each  other  a  cheerful  "  good  night,"  were  soon 
fast  asleep.  Errington  was  rather  restless,  and  lay  awake 
for  some  little  time,  listening  to  the  stormy  discourse  of 
the  Fall ;  but  at  last  his  eyelids  yielded  to  the  heaviness 
that  oppressed  them,  and  he  sank  into  a  light  slumber. 

Meanwhile  the  imperial  sun  rode  majestically  downwards 
to  the  edge  of  the  horizon, — and  the  sky  blushed  into  the 
pale  tint  of  a  wild  rose,  that  deepened  softly  and  steadily 
with  an  ever-increasing  fiery  brillance  as  the  minutes  glided 
noiselessly  on  to  the  enchanted  midnight  hour.  A  wind 
began  to  rustle  mysteriously  among  the  pines — then  grad- 
ually growing  wrathful,  strove  to  whistle  a  loud  defiance 
to  the  roar  of  the  tumbling  waters.  Through  the  little 
nooks  and  crannies  of  the  roughly  constructed  cabin,  where 
the  travellers  slept,  it  uttered  small  wild  shrieks  of  warn- 
ing or  dismay — and,  suddenly,  as  though  touched  by  an  in- 
visible hand,  Sir  Philip  awoke.  A  crimson  glare  streaming 
through  the  open  door  dazzled  his  drowsy  eyes — was  it  a 
forest  on  fire  ?  He  started  up  in  dreamy  alarm, — then  re- 
membered where  he  was.  Realizing  that  there  must  be  an 
exceptionally  fine  sky  to  cast  so  ruddy  a  reflection  on  the 
ground,  he  threw  on  his  cloak  and  went  outside. 

What  a  wondrous,  almost  unearthly  scene  greeted  him  1 
His  first  impulse  was  to  shout  aloud  in  sheer  ecstasy — his 
next  to  stand  silent  in  reverential  awe.  The  great  Fall 
was  no  longer  a  sweeping  flow  of  white  foam — it  had 
changed  to  a  sparkling  shower  of  rubies,  as  though  some 
great  genie,  tired  of  his  treasures,  were  flinging  them  away 
by  giant  handfuls,  in  the  most  reckless  haste  and  lavish 
abundance.  From  the  bottom  of  the  cascade  a  crimson 
vapor  arose,  like  smoke  from  flame,  and  the  whirling 


216  THELMA. 

rapids,  deeply  red  for  the  most  part,  darkened  here  and 
there  into  an  olive-green  flecked  with  gold,  while  the  spray, 
tossed  high  over  interrupting  rocks  and  boulders,  glittered 
as  it  fell  like  small  fragments  of  broken  opal.  The  sky 
was  of  one  dense  uniform  rose-color  from  west  to  east, — - 
soft  and  shimmering  as  a  broad  satin  pavilion  freshly  un- 
rolled,— the  sun  was  invisible,  hidden  behind  the  adjacent 
mountains,  but  his  rays  touched  some  peaks  in  the  dis- 
tance, on  which  white  wreaths  of  snow  lay,  bringing  them 
into  near  and  sparkling  prominence. 

The  whole  landscape  was  transformed — the  tall  trees, 
rustling  and  swaying  in  the  now  boisterous  wind,  took  all 
flickering  tints  of  color  on  their  trunks  and  leaves, — the 
grey  stones  and  pebbles  turned  to  lumps  of  gold  and  heaps 
•)f  diamonds,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  rapids,  a  large 
tuft  of  heather  in  a  cleft  of  the  rocks  glowed  with  extraor- 
dinary vividness  and  warmth,  like  a  suddenly  kindled  fire. 
A  troop  of  witches  dancing  wildty  on  the  sward, — a  ring 
of  fairies, — kelpies  tripping  from  crag  to  crag, — a  sudden 
chorus  of  sweet-voiced  water-nymphs — nothing  unreal  or 
fantastical  would  have  surprised  Errington  at  that  mo- 
ment. Indeed,  he  almost  expected  something  of  the  kind 
— the  scene  was  so  eminently  fitted  for  it. 

"  Positively,  I  must  wake  Lorimer,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self. "  He  oughtn't  to  miss  such  a  gorgeous  spectacle  as 
this." 

He  moved  a  little  more  in  position  to  view  the  Fall. 
What  was  that  small  dark  object  running  swiftly  yet 
steadily  along  on  the  highest  summit  of  those  jutting 
crags  ?  He  rubbed  his  eyes  amazedly — was  it — could  it  be 
Sigurd?  He  watched  it  for  a  moment, — then  uttered  a 
loud  cry  as  he  saw  it  pause  on  the  very  ledge  of  rock  from 
which  but  a  short  while  since,  he  himself  had  been  so 
nearly  precipitated.  The  figure  was  now  distinctly  visible, 
outlined  in  black  against  the  flaming  crimson  of  the  sky, — 
it  stood  upright  and  waved  its  arms  with  a  frantic  gesture. 
There  was  no  mistaking  it — it  was  Sigurd ! 

Without  another  second's  hesitation  Errington  rushed 
back  to  the  hut  and  awoke,  with  clamorous  alarm,  the  rest 
of  the  party.  His  brief  explanation  sufficed — they  all 
hurried  forth  in  startled  excitement.  Sigurd  still  occupied 
his  hazardous  position,  and  as  they  looked  at  him  he 
seemed  to  dance  wildly  nearer  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
rocky  platform.  Old  Guldmar  turned  pale.  "  The  gods 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  217 

preserve  him  !  "  he  muttered  in  his  beard — then  turning  he 
began  resolutely  to  make  the  ascent  of  the  rocks  with  long, 
rapid  strides — the  young  men  followed  him  eager  and 
almost  breathless,  each  and  all  bent  upon  saving  Sigurd 
from  the  danger  in  which  he  stood,  and  trying  by  different 
ways  to  get  more  quickly  near  the  unfortunate  lad  and  call, 
or  draw  him  back  by  force  from  his  point  of  imminent 
deadly  peril..  They  were  more  than  half-way  up,  when  a 
piercing  cry  rang  clearly  above  the  thunderous  din  of  the 
fall — a  cry  that  made  them  pause  for  a  moment. 

Sigurd  had  caught  sight  of  the  figures  advancing  to  his 
rescue,  and  was  waving  them  back  with  eloquent  gesture  of 
anger  and  defiance.  His  small  misshapen  body  was  alive 
with  wrath, — it  seemed  as  though  he  were  some  dwarf  king 
ruling  over  the  glittering  crimson  torrent,  and  grimly  for- 
bidding strangers  to  enter  on  the  boundaries  of  his  magic 
territory.  They,  however,  pressed  on  with  renewed  haste, 
— and  they  had  nearly  reached  the  summit  when  another 
shrill  cry  echoed  over  the  sunset-colored  foam. 

Once  more  they  pausedthey  were  in  full  view  of  the 
distraught  Sigurd,  and  he  turned  his  head  towards  them, 
shaking  back  his  long  fair  hair  with  his  old  favorite  gesture 
and  laughing  in  apparent  glee.  Then  he  suddenly  raised 
his  arms,  and,  clasping  his  hands  together,  poised  himself 
as  though  he  were  some  winged  thing  about  to  fly. 

"  Sigurd  !  Sigurd  1 "  shouted  Guldmar,  his  strong  voice 
tremulous  with  anguish.  "  Come  back !  come  back  to 
Thelma ! " 

At  the  sound  of  that  beloved  name,  the  unhappy  creature 
seemed  to  hesitate,  and,  profiting  by  that  instant  of  irresolu- 
tion, Errington  and  Lorimer  rushed  forward Too  late  ! 

Sigurd  saw  them  coming,  and  glided  with  stealthy  caution 
to  the  very  brink  of  the  torrent,  where  there  was  scarcely 
any  foothold — there  he  looked  back  at  his  would-be  rescuers 
with  an  air  of  mystery  and  cunning,  and  broke  into  a  loud 
derisive  laugh. 

Then — still  with  clasped  hands  and  smiling  face — un- 
heeding the  shout  of  horror  that  broke  from  those  who  be- 
held him — he  leaped,  and  fell!  Down,  down  into  the  roar- 
ing abyss  !  For  one  half-second — one  lightning  flash — his 
twisted  figure,  like  a  slight  black  speck  was  seen  against 
the  wide  roseate  glory  of  the  tumbling  cascade — then  it  dis- 
appeared, engulfed  and  lost  for  ever  !  Gone, — with  all  his 
wild  poet  fancies  and  wandering  dreams — gone,  with  his 


218  THELMA. 

unspoken  love  and  unguessed  sorrows — gone  where  dark 
things  shall  be  made  light, — and  where  the  broken  or 
tangled  chain  of  the  soul's  intelligence  shall  be  mended  and 
made  perfect  by  the  tender  hands  of  the  All-Wise  and  the 
All-Loving  One,  whose  ways  are  too  gloriously  vast  for  our 
finite  comprehension. 

"  Gone,  mistress !  "  as  he  would  have  said  to  the  innocent 
cause  of  his  heart's  anguish.  "  Gone  where  I  shall  grow 
straight  and  strong  and  brave !  Mistress,  if  you  meet  me 
in  Valhalla,  you  will  love  me]^; 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Do  not,  I  pray  yon,  think  evilly  of  so  holy  a  man  !  He  has  a 
sore  combat  against  the  flesh  and  the  devil !  " — The  Maid  of  Honor. 

THE  horror-stricken  spectators  of  the  catastrophe  stood 
for  a  minute  inert  and  speechless, — stupefied  by  its  sudden- 
ness and  awful  rapidity.  Then  with  one  accord  they  hur- 
ried down  to  the  level  shore  of  the  torrent,  moved  by  the 
unanimous  idea  that  they  might  possibly  succeed  in  rescuing 
Sigurd's  frail  corpse  from  the  sharp  teeth  of  the  jagged 
rocks,  that,  piercing  upwards  through  the  foam  of  the  roar- 
ing rapids,  were  certain  to  bruise,  tear,  and  disfigure  it  be- 
yond all  recognition.  But  even  this  small  satisfaction  was 
denied  them.  There  was  no  sign  of  a  floating  or  struggling 
body  anywhere  visible.  And  while  they  kept  an  eager 
look-out,  the  light  in  the  heavens  slowty  changed.  From 
burning  crimson  it  softened  to  a  tender  amethyst  hue,  as 
smooth  and  delicate  as  the  glossy  pale  tint  of  the  purple- 
clematis, — and  with  it  the  rosy  foam  of  the  Fall  graduated 
to  varying  tints  of  pink,  from  pink  to  tender  green,  and 
lastly,  it  became  as  a  shower  of  amber  wine.  Giildmar 
spoke  first  in  a  voice  broken  by  deep  emotion. 

"  'Tis  all  over  with  him,  poor  lad  !  "  he  said,  and  tears 
glittered  thickly  in  his  keen  old  eyes.  "  And — though  the 
gods,  of  a  surety,  know  best — this  is  an  end  I  looked  not 
for  !  A  mournful  home-returning  shall  we  have — for  how 
to  break  the  news  to  Thelma  is  more  than  I  can  tell !  " 

And  he  shook  his  head  sorrowfully  while  returning  the 
warm  and  sympathizing  pressure  of  Errington's  hand. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  with  a  wistful  look  at  the  grave 
and  compassionate  face  of  his  accepted  son-in-law — "  the  boy 
was  no  boy  of  mine,  'tis  true — and  the  winds  had  more  than 


THE  LAKD  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  219 

their  share  of  his  wits — yet — we  knew  him  from  a  baby — 
and  my  wife  loved  him  for  his  sad  estate,  which  he  was  not 
to  blame  for.  Thelma,  too — he  was  her  first  playmate " 

The  bonde  could  trust  himself  to  say  no  more,  but  turned 
abruptly  away,  brushing  one  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  was 
silent  for  many  minutes.  The  young  men,  too,  were  si- 
lent,— Sigurd's  determined  suicide  had  chilled  and  sickened 
them.  Slowly  they  returned  to  the  hut  to  pass  the  re- 
maining hours  of  the  night — though  sleep  was,  of  course, 
after  what  they  had  witnessed,  impossible.  They  remained 
awake,  therefore,  talking  in  low  tones  of  the  fatal  event, 
and  listening  to  the  solemn  sough  of  the  wind  through  the 
pines,  that  sounded  to  Errington's  ears  like  a  monotonous 
forest  dirge.  He  thought  of  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen 
the  unhappy  creature  whose  wandering  days  had  just 
ended, — of  that  scene  in  the  mysterious  shell  cavern, — of 
the  wild  words  he  had  then  uttered — how  strangely  they 
came  back  to  Philip's  memory  now  1 

"  You  have  come  as  a  thief  in  the  golden  midnight,  and 
the  thing  you  seek  is  the  life  of  Sigurd  !  Yes — yes  !  it  is 
true — the  spirit  cannot  lie  !  You  must  kill,  you  must 
steal — see  how  the  blood  drips,  drop  by  drop,  from  the 
heart  of  Sigurd  1  and  the  jewel  you  steal, — ah !  what  a 
jewel!  You  shall  not  find  such  another  in  Norway!" 
Was  not  the  hidden  meaning  of  these  incoherent  phrases 
rendered  somewhat  clear  now  ?  though  how  the  poor  lad's 
disordered  imagination  had  been  able  thus  promptly  to  con- 
jure up  with  such  correctness,  an  idea  of  Errington's  future 
relations  with  Thelma,  was  a  riddle  impossible  of  explana- 
tion. He  thought,  too,  with  a  sort  of  generous  remorse,  of 
that  occasion  when  Sigurd  had  visited  him  on  board  the 
yacht  to  implore  him  to  leave  the  Altenfjord.  He  realized 
everything, — the  inchoate  desires  of  the  desolate  being, 
who,  though  intensely  capable  of  loving,  felt  himself  in  a 
dim,  sad  way,  unworthy  of  love, — the  struggling  passions 
in  him  that  clamored  for  utterance — the  instinctive  dread 
and  jealousy  of  a  rival,  while  knowing  that  he  was  both 
physically  and  mentally  unfitted  to  compete  with  one, — all 
these  things  passed  through  Philip's  mind,  and  filled  him 
with  a  most  profound  pity  for  the  hidden  sufferings,  the 
tortures  and  inexplicable  emotions  which  had  racked  Si- 
gurd's darkened  soul.  And,  still  busy  with  these  reflec- 
tions, he  turned  on  his  arm  as  he  lay,  and  whispered  softly 
to  his  friend  who  was  close  by  him — 


220  THEIMA. 

•'  I  say,  Lorimer, — I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  to  blame  some- 
how in  this  affair  1  If  I  had  never  come  on  the  scene,  Si- 
gurd would  still  have  been  happy  in  his  own  way." 

Lorimer  was  silent.  After  a  pause,  Errington  went  on 
still  in  the  same  low  tone. 

"  Poor  little  fellow  1  Do  you  know,  I  can't  imagine  any- 
thing more  utterly  distracting  than  having  to  see  such  a 
woman  as  Thelma  day  after  day, — loving  her  all  the  time, 
and  knowing  such  love  to  be  absolutely  hopeless !  Why,  it 
was  enough  to  make  him  crazier  than  ever !  " 

Lorimer  moved  restlessly.  "  Yes,  it  must  have  been 
hard  on  him  !  "  he  answered  at  last,  in  a  gentle,  somewhat 
sad  tone.  "  Perhaps  it's  as  well  he's  out  of  it  all.  Life  is 
infinitely  perplexing  to  many  of  us.  By  this  time  he's  no 
doubt  wiser  than  yon  or  I,  Phil, — he  could  tell  us  the  rea- 
son why  love  is  such  a  blessing  to  some  men,  and  such  a 
curse  to  others! " 

Errington  made  no  answer,  and  they  relapsed  into  si- 
lence— silence  which  was  almost  unbroken  save  by  an  oc- 
casional deep  sigh  from  Olaf  Giildmar  and  a  smothered  ex- 
clamation such  as,  "  Poor  lad,  poor  lad  !  Who  would  have 
thought  it  ?  " 

With  the  early  dawn  they  were  all  up  and  ready  for  the 
homeward  journey, — though  with  very  different  feelings  to 
those  with  which  they  had  started  on  their  expedition. 
The  morning  was  dazzlingly  bright  and  clear, — and  the  cat- 
aract of  Njedegorze  rolled  down  in  glittering  folds  of  creamy 
white  and  green,  uttering  its  ceaseless  psalm  of  praise  to 
the  Creator  in  a  jubilant  roar  of  musical  thunder.  They 
paused  and  looked  at  it  for  the  last  time  before  leaving, — it 
had  assumed  for  them  a  new  and  solemn  aspect — it  was 
Sigurd's  grave.  The  bonde  raised  his  cap  from  his  rough 
white  hair, — instinctively  the  others  followed  his  example. 

"  May  the  gods  grant  him  good  rest !  "  said  the  old  man 
reverently.  "  In  the  wildest  waters  they  say  there  is  a 
calm  underflow, — maybe  the  lad  has  found  it  and  is  glad  to 
sleep."  He  paused  and  stretched  his  hands  forth  with  an 
eloquent  and  touching  gesture.  "  Peace  be  with  him  !  " 

Then,  without  more  words,  and  as  though  disdaining  his 
own  emotion,  he  turned  abruptly  away,  and  began  to  de- 
scend the  stony  and  precipitous  hill,  up  which  Sigurd  had 
so  skillfully  guided  them  the  day  before.  Macfarlane  and 
Duprez  followed  him  close, — Macfarlane  casting  more  than 
once  a  keen  look  over  the  rapids. 


TEE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  221 

"  'Tis  a  pity  we  couldna  find  his  body,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

Duprez  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Sigurd's  death  had 
shocked  him  considerably  by  its  suddenness,  but  he  was 
too  much  of  a  volatile  Frenchman  to  be  morbidly  anxious 
about  securing  the  corpse. 

"  1  think  not  so  at  all,"  he  said.  "  Of  what  use  would  it 
be'?  To  grieve  mademoiselle  ?  to  make  her  cry  ?  That 
would  be  cruel, — I  would  not  assist  in  it !  A  dead  body  is 
not  a  sight  for  ladies, — believe  me,  things  are  best  as  they 
are." 

They  went  on,  while  Errington  and  Lorimer  lingered  yet 
a  moment  longer. 

"  A  magnificent  sepulchre !  "  said  Lorimer,  dreamily  eye- 
ing for  the  last  time  the  sweeping  flow  of  the  glittering 
torrent.  "  Better  than  all  the  monuments  ever  erected ! 
Upon  my  life,  I  would  not  mind  having  such  a  grave  my- 
self! Say  what  you  like,  Phil,  there  was  something  grand 
in  Sigurd's  choice  of  a  death.  We  all  of  us  have  to  get  out 
of  life  somehow  one  day — that's  certain — but  few  of  us  have 
the  chance  of  making  such  a  triumphant  exit !  " 

Errington  looked  at  him  with  a  grave  smile.  "  How  you 
talk,  George !  "  he  said  half-reproachfully.  "  One  would 
think  }'ou  envied  the  end  of  that  unfortunate,  half-witted 
fellow !  You've  no  reason  to  be  tired  of  your  life,  I'm  sure, 
— all  your  bright  days  are  before  you." 

"  Are  they  ?  "  And  Lorimer's  blue  eyes  looked  slightly 
melancholy.  "  Well,  I  dare  say  they  are  !  Let's  hope  so 
at  all  events  There  need  be  something  before  me, — there 
isn't  much  behind  except  wasted  opportunities.  Come  on, 
Phil!" 

They  resumed  their  walk,  and  soon  rejoined  the  others. 
The  journey  back  to  the  Altenfjord  was  continued  all  day 
with  but  one  or  two  interruptions  for  rest  and  refreshment. 
It  was  decided  that  on  reaching  home,  old  Guldmar  should 
proceed  a  little  in  advance,  in  order  to  see  his  daughter 
alone  first,  and  break  to  her  the  news  of  the  tragic  event 
that  had  occurred, — so  that  when,  after  a  long  and  toilsome 
journey,  they  caught  sight,  at  about  eight  in  the  evening, 
of  the  familiar  farmhouse  through  the  branches  of  the 
trees  that  surrounded  and  sheltered  it,  they  all  came  to  a 
halt. 

The  young  men  seated  themselves  on  a  pleasant  knoll 
under  some  tall  pines,  there  to  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or 


222  THELMA. 

so,  while  the  bonde  went  forward  to  prepare  Thelma.  On 
second  thoughts,  the  old  man  asked  Errington  to  accom- 
pany him, — a  request  to  which  he  very  readily  acceded, 
and  these  two,  leaving  the  others  to  follow  at  their  leisure, 
went  on  their  way  rapidly.  They  arrived  at,  and  entered 
the  garden, — their  footsteps  made  a  crunching  noise  on  the 
pebbly  path, — but  no  welcoming  face  looked  forth  from  any 
of  the  windows  of  the  house.  The  entrance  door  stood 
wide  open, — there  was  not  a  living  soul  to  be  seen  but  the 
kitten  asleep  in  a  corner  of  the  porch,  and  the  doves 
drowsing  on  the  roof  in  the  sunshine.  The  deserted 
air  of  the  place  was  unmistakable,  and  Giildmar  and  Er- 
rington exchanged  looks  of  wonder  not  unmixed  with 
alarm. 

"  Thelma!  Thelma!  "  called  the  bonde  anxiously.  There 
was  no  response.  He  entered  the  house  and  threw  open  the 
kitchen  door.  There  was  no  fire, — and  not  the  slightest  sign 
of  any  of  the  usual  preparations  for  supper. 

"  Britta !  "  shouted  Giildmar.  Still  no  answer.  "  By  the 
gods ! "  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  the  astonished  Philip, 
"  this  is  a  strange  thing !  Where  can  the  girls  be  ?  I 
have  never  known  both  of  them  to  be  absent  from  the 
house  at  the  same  time.  Go  down  to  the  shore,  m}T  lad, 
and  see  if  Thelma's  boat  is  missing,  while  I  search  the 
garden." 

Errington  obeyed — hurrying  off  on  his  errand  with  a 
heart  beating,  fast  from  sudden  fear  and  anxiety.  For  he 
knew  Thelma  was  was  not  likely  to  have  gone  out  of  her 
own  accord,  at  the  very  time  she  would  have  naturally  ex- 
pected her  father  and  his  friends  back,  and  the  absence  of 
Britta  too,  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  extraordinary.  He 
reached  the  pier  very  speedily,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  the 
boat  was  gone.  He  hastened  back  to  report  this  to  Giild- 
mar, who  was  making  the  whole  place  resound  with  his 
shouts  of  "  Thelma  1 "  and  "  Britta !  "  though  he  shouted 
altogether  in  vain. 

"  Maybe,"  he  said  dubiously,  on  hearing  of  the  missing 
boat — "  Maybe  the  child  has  gone  on  the  Fjord — 'tis  often 
her  custom, — but,  then,  where  is  Britta  ?  Besides,  they 
must  have  expected  us — they  would  have  prepared  supper 
— they  would  have  been  watching  for  our  return.  No. 
no !  there  is  something  wrong  about  this — 'tis  altogether 
unusual." 

And  he  looked  about  him  in  a  bewildered  way,  while  Sir 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  223 

Philip,  noting  his  uneasiness,  grew  more  and  more  uneasy 
himself. 

"  Let  me  go  and  search  for  them,  sir,"  he  said,  ea- 
gerly. "  They  may  be  in  the  woods,  or  up  towards  the 
orchard." 

Giildmar  shook  his  head  and  drew  his  fuzzy  white  brows 
together  in  puzzled  meditation — suddenly  he  started  and 
struck  his  staff  forcibly  on  the  ground. 

"  I  have  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  old  hag  Lovisa  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this  ! " 

"  By  Jove  1  "  cried  Errington.  "  I  believe  vou're  right ! 
What  shall  we  do  ? " 

At  that  moment,  Lorimer,  Duprez,  and  Macfarlane  came 
on  the  scene,  thinking  they  had  kept  aloft  long  enough, — 
and  the  strange  disappearance  of  the  two  girls  was  rapidly 
explained  to  them.  They  listened  astonished  and  almost 
incredulous,  but  agreed  with  the  bonde  as  to  Lovisa's  prob- 
able share  in  the  matter. 

"  Look  here !  "  said  Lorimer  excitedly.  "  I'm  not  in  the 
least  tired, — show  me  the  way  to  Talvig,  where  that  old 
screech-owl  lives,  and  I'll  go  there  straight  as  a  gun  ! 
Shouldn't  wonder  if  she  has  not  forced  away  her  grand- 
child, in  which  case  Miss  Thelma  may  have  gone  after 
her." 

"  I'll  come  with  you  1 "  said  Errington.  "  Let's  lose  no 
time  about  it." 

But  Giildmar  shook  his  head.  "  'Tis  a  long  way,  my 
lads, — and  you  do  not  know  the  road.  No — 'twill  be  better 
we  should  take  the  boat  and  pull  over  to  Bosekop  ;  there 
we  can  get  a  carriole  to  take  two  of  us  at  least  to  Ta* 
vig " 

He  stopped,  interrupted  by  Macfarlane,  who  looked  par- 
ticularly shrewd. 

"  I  should  certainly  advise  ye  to  try  Boskop  first,"  he  re- 
marked cautiously.  "  Mr.  Dyceworthy  might  be  able  to 
provide  ye  with  valuable  information." 

"  Dyceworthy  !  "  roared  the  bonde,  becomming  inflamma- 
ble at  once.  "  He  knows  little  of  me  or  mine,  thank  the 
gods  1  and  I  would  not  by  choice  step  within  a  mile  of  his 
dwelling.  What  makes  you  think  of  him,  sir  ?  " 

Lorimer  laid  a  hand  soothingly  on  his  arm. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Giildmar,  don't  get  excited  !  Mac  is 
right.  I  d'are  say  Dyceworthy  knows  as  much  in  his  way 
as  the  ancient  Lovisa.  At  any  rate,  it  isn't  his  fault  if  he 


224  THELMA. 

does  not.  Because  you  see "  Lorimer  hesitated  and 

turned  to  Errington.  "  You  tell  him,  Phil  1  you  know  all 
about  it." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Errington,  while  Giildmar  gazed  from 
one  to  the  other  in  speechless  amazement,  "  Thelma  hasn't 
told  you  because  she  knew  how  angry  you'd  be — but  Dyce- 
worthy  asked  her  to  marry  him.  Of  course  she  refused 
him,  and  I  doubt  if  he's  taken  his  rejection  very  resign- 
edly." 

The  face  of  the  old  farmer  as  he  heard  these  words  was  a 
stud}'.  Wonder,  contempt,  pride,  and  indignation  struggled 
for  the  mastery  on  his  rugged  features. 

"  Asked — her — to — marry — him  !  "  he  repeated  slowly. 
"  By  the  sword  of  Odin  !  Had  I  known  it  I  would  have 
throttled  him  !  "  His  eyes  blazed  and  he  clenched  his  hand. 
*  Throttled  him,  lads!  I  would  !  Give  me  the  chance  and 
I'll  do  it  now  !  I  tell  you,  the  mere  look  of  such  a  man  as 
that  is  a  desecration  to  iny  child, — liar  and  hypocrite  as  he 
is  !  may  the  gods  confound  him  !  "  He  paused — then  sud- 
denly bracing  himself  up,  added.  "  I'll  away  to  Bosekop 
at  once — they've  been  afraid  of  me  there  for  no  reason — 
I'll  teach  them  to  be  afraid  of  me  in  earnest  1  Who'll  come 
with  me  ?  " 

All  eagerly  expressed  their  desire  to  accompany  him 
with  the  exception  of  one, — Pierre  Duprez, — he  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  Whyj  where  has  he  gone  ?  "  demanded  Lorimer  in  some 
surprise. 

"  I  canna  tell,"  replied  Macfarlane.  "  He  just  slipped 
awa'  while  ye  were  haverin' about  Dyceworthy — he'll  maybe 
join  us  at  the  shore." 

To  the  shore  they  at  once  betook  themselves,  and  were 
soon  busied  in  unmooring  Guldmar's  own  rowing-boat,  which, 
as  it  had  not  been  used  for  some  time,  was  rather  a  tedious 
business, — moreover  they  noted  with  concern  that  the  tide 
was  dead  against  them. 

Duprez  did  not  appear, — the  truth  is,  that  he  had  taken 
into  his  head  to  start  off  for  Talvig  on  foot  without  waiting 
for  the  others.  He  was  fond  of  an  adventure  and  here  was 
one  that  suited  him  precisely — to  rescue  distressed  damsels 
from  the  grasp  of  persecutors.  He  was  tired,  but  he  man- 
aged to  find  the  road, — and  he  trudged  on  determinedly, 
humming  a  song  of  Beranger's  as  he  walked  to  keep  him 
cheerful.  But  he  had  not  gone  much  more  than  a  mile, 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  22C 

when  he  discerned  in  the  distance  a  carriole  approaching 
him, — and  approaching  so  swiftly  that  it  appeared  to  swing 
from  side  to  side  of  the  road  at  imminent  risk  of  upsetting 
altogether.  There  seemed  to  be  one  person  in  it — an  ex- 
cited person  too,  who  lashed  the  stout  little  pony  and  urged 
it  on  to  fresh  exertions  with  gesticulations  and  cries.  That 
plump  buxom  figure — that  tumbled  brown  hair  streaming 
wildly  on  the  breeze, — that  round  rosy  face — why  !  it  was 
Britta  !  Britta,  driving  all  alone,  with  the  reckless  daring 
of  a  Norwegian  peasant  girl  accustomed  to  the  swaying, 
jolting  movement  of  the  carriole  as  well  as  the  rough  roads 
and  sharp  turnings.  Nearer  she  came  and  nearer — and 
Duprez  hailed  her  with  a  shout  of  welcome.  She  saw  him, 
answered  his  call,  and  drove  still  fester, — soon  she  came  up 
beside  him,  and  without  answering  his  amazed  questions, 
she  cried  breathlessly — 

"  Jump  in — jump  in  !  We  must  go  on  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible to  Bosekop !  Quick — quick  !  Oh  my  poor  Froken  I 
The  old  villain !  Wait  till  I  get  at  him !  " 

"  But,  my  leet-le  child  ! "  expostulated  Pierre,  climbing 
up  into  the  queer  vehicle — "  What  is  all  this  ?  I  am  in  as- 
tonishment— I  understand  not  at  all !  How  comes  it  that 
you  are  run  away  from  home,  and  Mademoiselle  also?" 

Britta  only  waited  till  he  was  safely  seated,  and  then 
lashed  the  pony  with  redoubled  force.  Away  they  clattered 
at  a  break-neck  pace,  the  Frenchman  having  much  ado  to 
prevent  himself  from  being  jolted  out  again  on  the  road. 

"  It  is  a  wicked  plot !  "  she  then  exclaimed,  panting  with 
excitement — ''  a  wicked,  wicked  plot !  This  afternoon  Mr. 
Dyceworthy's  servant  came  and  brought  Sir  Philip's  card. 
It  said  that  he  had  met  with  an  accident  and  had  been 
brought  back  to  Bosekop,  and  that  he  wished  the  Froken  to 
come  to  him  at  once.  Of  course,  the  darling  believed  it  all 
— and  she  grew  so  pale,  so  pale !  And  she  went  straight 
away  in  her  boat  all  by  herself!  Oh  my  dear — my  dear  !  " 

Britta  gasped  for  breath,  and  Duprez  soothingly  placed 
an  arm  round  her  waist,  an  action  which  the  little  maiden 
seemed  not  to  be  aware  of.  She  resumed  her  story — "  Then 
the  Froken  had  not  been  gone  so  very  long,  and  I  was 
watching  for  her  in  the  garden,  when  a  woman  passed  by — 
a  friend  of  my  grandmother's.  She  called  out — '  Hey^ 
Britta  !  Do  you  know  they  have  got  your  mistress  down  at 
Talvig,  and  they'll  burn  her  for  a  witch  before  they  sleep  ! ' 
4  She  has  gone  to  Bosekop,'  I  answered, '  so  I  know  you  tell 


226  THELMA. 

a  lie.'  '  It  is  no  lie,'  said  the  old  woman, '  old  Lovisa  has 
her  this  time  for  sure.'  And  she  laughed  and  went  away. 
Well,  I  did  not  stop  to  think  twice  about  it — I  started  on*" 
for  Talvig  at  once — I  ran  nearly  all  the  way.  I  found  my 
grandmother  alone — I  asked  her  if  she  had  seen  the  Froken  ? 
She  screamed  and  clapped  her  hands  like  a  mad  woman  ! 
she  said  that  the  Fro'ken  was  with  Mr.  Dyceworthy — Mr. 
Dyceworthy  would  know  what  to  do  with  her  !  " 

"  Sapristi  !  "  ejaculated  Duprez.     "  This  is  serious  !  " 

Britta  glanced  anxiously  at  him,  and  went  on.  "  Then 
she  tried  to  shut  the  doors  upon  me  and  beat  me — but  I 
escaped.  Outside  I  saw  a  man  I  knew  with  his  carriole, 
and  I  borrowed  it  of  him  and  came  back  as  fast  as  I  could 
— but  oh  !  I  am  so  afraid — my  grandmother  said  such  dread- 
ful things !  " 

"  The  others  have  taken  a  boat  to  Bosekop,"  said  Duprez, 
to  re-assure  her.  "  They  may  be  there  by  now." 

Britta  shook  her  head.  "  The  tide  is  against  them — no  1 
we  shall  be  there  first.  But,"  and  she  looked  wistfully  at 
Pierre,  "  my  grandmother  said  Mr.  Dyceworthy  had  sworn 
to  ruin  the  Fro'ken.  What  did  she  mean,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Duprez  did  not  answer, — he  made  a  strange  grimace  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Then  he  seized  the  whip  and 
lashed  the  pony. 

"  Faster,  faster,  mon  chere  !  "  he  cried  to  that  much-as- 
tonished, well-intentioned  animal.  "  It  is  not  a  time  to 
sleep,  mafoi!  "  Then  to  Britta — u  My  little  one,  you  shall 
see  !  We  shall  disturb  the  good  clergyman  at  his  peaceful 
supper — yes  indeed  !  Be  not  afraid  !  " 

And  with  such  reassuring  remarks  he  beguiled  the  rest 
of  the  way,  which  to  both  of  them  seemed  unusually  long, 
though  it  was  not  much  past  nine  when  they  rattled  into 
the  little  village  called  by  courtesy  a  town,  and  came  to 
a  halt  within  a  few  paces  of  the  minister's  residence.  Every- 
thing was  very  quiet — the  inhabitants  of  the  place  retired 
to  rest  early — and  the  one  principal  street  was  absolutely 
deserted.  Duprez  alighted. 

"  Stay  you  here,  Britta,"  he  said,  lightly  kissing  the  hand 
that  held  the  pony's  reins.  "  I  will  make  an  examination 
of  the  windows  of  the  house.  Yes — before  knocking  at  the 
door  !  You  wait  with  patience.  I  will  let  you  know  every- 
thing !  " 

And  with  a  sense  of  pleasureable  excitement  in  his  mind, 
be  stole  softly  along  on  tip-toe—entered  the  minister's  gar- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  227 

den,  fragrant  with  roses  and  mignonette,  and  then,  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  voices,  went  straight  up  to  the 
parlor  window.  The  blind  was  down  and  he  could  see 
nothing,  but  he  heurd  Mr.  Dyceworthy's  bland  persuasive 
tones,  echoing  out  with  a  soft  sonorousness,  as  though  he 
were  preaching  to  some  refractory  parishioner.  He  listened 
attentively. 

"  Oh  strange,  strange  !  "  said  Mr.  Dyceworthy.  "  Strange 
that  you  will  not  see  how  graciously  the  Lord  hath  delivered 
you  into  my  hands  !  Yea, — and  no  escape  is  possible  I  For 
lo,  you  j'ourself,  Froken  Thelma,"  Duprez  started,  "  you 
yourself  came  hither  unto  my  dwelling,  a  woman  all  un- 
protected, to  a  man  equally  unprotected, — and  who,  though 
a  humble  minister  of  saving  grace,  is  not  proof  against  the 
offered  surrender  of  your  charms  !  Make  the  best  of  it,  my 
sweet  girl ! — make  the  best  of  it  1  You  can  never  undo  what 
you  have  done  to-night." 

"  Coward !  .  .  .  coward ! "  and  Thelma's  rich  low 
voice  caused  Pierre  to  almost  leap  forward  from  the  place 
where  he  stood  concealed.  "  You, — you  made  me  come 
here — you  sent  me  that  card — you  dared  to  use  the  name 
of  my  betrothed  husband,  to  gain  your  vile  purpose  !  You 
have  kept  me  locked  in  this  room  all  these  hours — and  do 
you  think  you  will  not  be  punished  ?  I  will  let  the  whole 
village  know  of  your  treacheiy  and  falsehood  !  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  laughed  gently.  "  Dear  me,  dear  me  ! " 
he  remarked  sweetly.  "  How  pretty  we  look  in  a  passion, 
to  be  sure !  And  we  talk  of  our  '  betrothed  husband  '  do 
we  ?  Tut-tut !  Put  that  dream  out  of  your  mind,  my  dear 
girl — Sir  Philip  Bruce-Errington  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  you  after  your  little  escapade  of  to-night !  Your  honor 
is  touched  1 — yes,  yes  !  and  honor  is  everything  to  such  a 
man  as  he.  As  for  the  '  card '  you  talk  about,  I  never  sent 
a  card — not  I !  "  Mr.  Dyceworthy  made  this  assertion  in  a 
tone  of  injured  honesty.  "  Why  should  I !  No — no  !  You 

came  here  of  your  own  accord, — that  is  certain  and " 

here  he  spoke  more  slowly  and  with  a  certain  malicious 
glee,  "  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  proving  it  to  be  so, 
should  the  young  man  Errington  ask  me  for  an  explana- 
tion !  Now  3Tou  had  better  give  me  a  kiss  and  make  the 
peace !  There's  not  a  soul  in  the  place  who  will  believe  any- 
thing you  say  against  me  :  you,  a  reputed  witch,  and  I,  a 
minister  of  the  Gospel.  For  }-our  father  I  care  nothing,  a 
poor  sinful  pagan  can  never  injure  a  servant  of  tbe  Lord. 


228  THELMA. 

Come  now,  let  me  have  that  kiss!  I  have  been  very  patient 
— I  am  sure  I  deserve  it !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  rushing  movement  in  the  room,  and 
a  slight  cry. 

"  If  you  touch  me ! "  cried  Thelma,  "  I  will  kill  you  1  I 
will!  God  will  help  me!" 

Again  Mr.  Dyceworthy  laughed  sneeringly.  "  God  will 
help  you  !  "  he  exclaimed  as  though  in  wonder.  "  As  if  God 
ever  helped  a  Roman!  Froken  Thelma,  be  sensible.  By 
your  strange  visit  to  me  to-night  you  have  ruined  your 
already  damaged  character — I  say  you  have  ruined  it, — and 
if  anything  remains  to  be  said  against  you,  /  can  say  it — 
moreover,  I  will !  " 

A  crash  of  breaking  window-glass  followed  these  words, 
and  before  Mr.  Dyceworthy  could  realize  what  had  hap- 
pened, he  was  pinioned  against  his  own  wall  by  an  active, 
wiry,  excited  individual,  whose  black  eyes  sparkled  with 
gratified  rage,  whose  clenched  fist  was  dealing  him  severe 
thumps  all  over  his  fat  body. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  You  will,  will  you  !  "  cried  Duprez,  literally 
dancing  up  against  him  and  squeezing  him  as  though  he 
were  a  jelly.  "  You  will  tell  lies  in  the  service  of  le  Bon 
Dieu  ?  No — not  quite,  not  yet !  "  And  still  pinioning  him 
with  one  hand,  he  dragged  at  his  collar  with  the  other  till 
he  succeeded,  in  spite  of  the  minister's  unwieldly  efforts  to 
defend  himself,  in  rolling  him  down  upon  the  floor,  where  he 
knelt  upon  him  in  triumph.  "  Yoila  !  Je  sais  faire  la  boxe, 
moi !  "  Then  turning  to  Thelma,  who  stood  an  amazed 
spectator  of  the  scene,  her  flushed  cheeks  and  tear-swollen 
eyes  testifying  to  the  misery  of  the  hours  she  had  passed, 
he  said,  "Run,  Mademoiselle,  run!  The  little  Britta  is 
outside,  she  has  a  pony-car — she  will  drive  you  home.  I 
will  stay  here  till  Phil-eep  conies.  I  shall  enjoy  myself!  I 
will  begin — Phil-eep  with  finish  !  Then  we  will  return  to 
you." 

Thelma  needed  no  more  words,  she  rushed  to  the  door, 
threw  it  open,  and  vanished  like  a  bird  in  air.  Britta 's  joy 
at  seeing  her  was  too  great  for  more  than  an  exclamation  of 
welcome, — and  the  carriole,  with  the  two  girls  safely  in  it, 
was  soon  on  its  rapid  way  back  to  the  farm.  Meanwhile, 
Olaf  Giildmar,  with  Errington  and  the  others,  had  just 
landed  at  Bosekop  after  a  heavy  pull  across  the  Fjord,  and 
they  made  straight  for  Mr.  Dyce worthy's  house,  the  bonde 
working  himself  up  as  he  walked  into  a  positive  volcano  of 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  229 

wrath.  Finding  the  street-door  open  as  it  had  just  been 
left  by  the  escaped  Thelma,  they  entered,  and  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  parlor,  stopped  abruptly,  in  amazement  at  the 
sight  that  presented  itself.  Two  figures  were  rolling  about 
on  the  floor,  apparently  in  a  close  embrace, — one  large  and 
cumbrous,  the  other  small  and  slight.  Sometimes  they 
shook  each  other, — sometimes  they  lay  still, — sometimes  they 
recommenced  rolling.  Both  were  perfectly  silent,  save  that 
the  larger  personage  seemed  to  breathe  somewhat  heavily. 
Lorimer  stepped  into  the  room  to  secure  a  better  view — 
then  he  broke  into  an  irrepressible  laugh. 

"  It's  Duprez,"  he  cried,  for  the  benefit  of  the  others  that 
stood  at  the  door.  "  By  Jove !  How  did  he  get  here,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

Hearing  his  name,  Duprez  looked  up  from  that  portion  of 
My.  Dyce  worthy's  form  in  which  he  had  been  burrowing, 
and  smiled  radiantly. 

"  Ah,  cher  Lorimer!  Put  your  knee  here,  will  you  ?  So  ! 
that  is  well — I  will  rest  myself!  "  And  he  rose,  smoothing 
his  roughened  hair  with  both  hands,  while  Lorimer  in 
obedience  to  his  request,  kept  one  knee  artistically  pressed 
on  the  recumbent  figure  of  the  minister.  "  Ah !  and  there 
is  our  Phil-eep,  and  Sandy,  and  Monsieur  Giildmar !  But 
I  do  not  think,"  here  he  beamed  all  over,  "  there  is  much 
more  to  be  done  !  He  is  one  bruise,  I  assure  you  !  He  will 
not  preach  for  many  Sundays  ; — it  is  bad  to  be  so  fat — he 
will  be  so  exceedingly  suffering  !  " 

Errington  could  not  forbear  smiling  at  Pierre's  equanimity. 

"But  what  has  happened?"  he  asked.  "Is  Thelma 
here?" 

"  She  was  here,"  answered  Duprez.  "  The  religious  had 
decoyed  her  here  by  means  of  some  false  writing, — supposed 
to  be  from  you.  He  kept  her  locked  up  here  the  whole 
afternoon.  When  I  came  he  was  making  love  and  fright- 
ening her, — I  am  pleased  I  was  in  time.  But  " — and  he 
smiled  again — u  he  is  well  beaten  !  " 

Sir  Philip  strode  up  to  the  fallen  Dyceworthy,  his  face 
darkening  with  wrath. 

"  Let  him  go,  Lorimer,"  he  said  sternly.  Then,  as  the 
reverend  gentleman  slowly  struggled  to  his  feet,  moaning 
with  pain,  he  demanded,  u  What  have  you  to  say  for  your- 
self, sir  ?  Be  thankful  if  I  do  not  give  you  the  horse-whip- 
ping you  deserve,  you  scoundrel ! '' 

"  Let  me  get  at  him  !  "  vociferated  Giildmar  at  this  juno 


230  THELMA. 

ture,  struggling  to  free  himself  from  the  close  grasp  of  th& 
prudent  Macfarlane.  "  I  have  longed  for  such  a  chance  I 
Let  me  get  at  him  !  " 

But  Lorimer  assisted  to  restrain  him  from  springing  for- 
ward,— and  the  old  man  chafed  and  swore  by  his  gods  in  vain. 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  meanwhile  meekly  raised  his  eyes,  and 
folded  his  hands  with  a  sort  of  pious  resignation. 

"  I  have  been  set  upon  and  cruelly  abused,"  he  said 
mournfully,  "  and  there  is  no  part  of  me  without  ache  and 
soreness ! "  He  sighed  deeply.  "  But  I  am  punished 
rightly  for  yielding  unto  carnal  temptation,  put  before  me 
in  the  form  of  the  maiden  who  came  hither  unto  me  with 
delusive  entrancements " 

He  stopped,  shrinking  back  in  alarm  from  the  suddenly 
raised  fist  of  the  young  baronet. 

"  You'd  better  be  careful !  "  remarked  Philip  coolly,  with 
dangerously  flashing  eyes  ;  "  there  are  four  of  us  here,  re- 
member !  " 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  coughed,  and  resumed  an  air  of  out- 
raged dignity. 

"  Truly,  I  am  aware  of  it !  "  he  said  ;  "  and  it  surpriseth 
me  not  at  all  that  the  number  of  the  ungodly  outweigheth 
that  of  the  righteous  !  Alas  !  '  why  do  the  heathen  rage 
so  furiously  together  ?  '  Why,  indeed  !  Except  that  '  in 
their  hearts  they  imagine  a  vain  thing !  '  I  pardon  you, 
Sir  Philip,  I  freely  pardon  you  !  And  you  also,  sir,"  turn- 
ing gravely  to  Duprez,  who  received  his  forgiveness  with  a 
cheerful  and  delighted  bow.  "  You  can  indeed  injure — and 
you  have  injured  this  poor  body  of  mine — but  3-011  cannot 
touch  the  soul !  No,  nor  can  }rou  hinder  that  freedom  of 
speech  " — here  his  malignant  smile  was  truly  diabolical — 
"  which  is  my  glory,  and  which  shall  forever  be  uplifted 
against  all  manner  of  evil-doers,  whether  they  be  fair 
women  and  witches,  or  misguided  pagans " 

Again  he  paused,  rather  astonished  at  Errington's  scorn- 
ful laugh. 

"  You  low  fellow  !  "  said  the  baronet.  "  From  Yorkshire, 
are  you  ?  Well,  I  happen  to  know  a  good  man}-  people  in 
that  part  of  the  world — and  I  have  some  influence  there, 
too.  Now,  understand  me — I'll  have  you  hounded  out  of 
the  place !  You  shall  find  it  too  hot  to  hold  you — that  I 
swear!  Remember!  I'm  a  man  of  ray  word!  And  if 
you  dare  to  mention  the  name  of  Miss  Giildmar  disrespect- 
fully, I'll  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life !  " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  231 

Mr.  Dyceworthy  blinked  feebly,  and  drew  out  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  I  trust,  Sir  Philip,"  he  said  mildly,  "  you  will  recon- 
sider your  words  1  It  would  ill  beseem  you  to  strive  to  do 
me  harm  in  the  parish  were  my  ministrations  are  welcome, 
as  appealing  to  that  portion  of  the  people  who  follow  the 
godly  Luther.  Oh  yes," — and  he  smiled  cheerfully — 
u  you  will  reconsider  your  words.  In  the  meantime — I — 
I  " — he  stammered  slightly — "  I  apologize  !  I  meant 
naught  but  good  to  the  maiden — but  I  have  been  misunder- 
stood, as  is  ever  the  case  with  the  servants  of  the  Lord. 
Let  us  say  no  more  about  it !  I  forgive ! — let  us  all  for- 
give 1  I  will  even  extend  my  pardon  to  the  pagan  yon- 
der  " 

But  the  "  pagan  "  at  that  moment  broke  loose  from  the 
friendly  grasp  in  which  he  had  been  hitherto  held,  and 
strode  up  to  the  minister,  who  recoiled  like  a  beaten  cur 
from  the  look  of  that  fine  old  face  flushed  with  just  indig- 
nation, and  those  clear  blue  eyes  fiery  as  the  flash  of  steel. 

"  Pagan,  you  call  me  1  "  he  cried.  "  I  thank  the  gods  for 
it — I  am  proud  of  the  title  I  I  would  rather  be  the  veriest 
savage  that  ever  knelt  in  untutored  worship  to  the  great 
forces  of  Nature,  than  such  a  thing  as  you — a  slinking,  un- 
clean animal,  crawling  coward-like  between  earth  and  sky, 
and  daring  to  call  itself  a  Christian  !  Faugh  !  Were  I 
the  Christ,  I  should  sicken  at  sight  of  you !  " 

Dyceworthy  made  no  reply,  but  his  little  eyes  glittered 
evilly. 

Errington,  not  desiring  any  further  prolongation  of  the 
scene,  managed  to  draw  the  irate  bonde  away,  saying  in  a 
low  tone — 

"  We've  had  enough  of  this,  sir  1  Let  us  get  home  to 
Thelma." 

"  I  was  about  to  suggest  a  move,"  added  Lorimer.  "  We 
are  only  wasting  time  here." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Dupr&z  radiantly — "  and  Monsieur 
Dyceworthy  will  be  glad  to  be  in  bed !  He  will  be  very 
stiff  to-morrow,  I  am  sure  I  Here  is  a  lady  who  will  at- 
tend him." 

This  with  a  courteous  salute  to  the  wooden-faced  TJlrika, 
who  suddenly  confronted  them  in  the  little  passage.  She 
seemed  surprised  to  see  them,  and  spoke  in  a  monotonous 
dreamy  tone,  as  though  she  walked  in  her  sleep. 

"  The  girl  has  gone  ?  "  she  added  slowly. 


232  THELMA. 

Duprez  nodded  briskly.  "  She  has  gone !  And  let  me 
tell  you,  madame,  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  you,  she  would 
not  have  com  here  at  all.  You  took  that  card  to  her  ? " 

Ulrika  frowned.  "  I  was  compelled,"  she  said.  "  She 
made  me  take  it.  I  promised."  She  turned  her  dull  eyes 
slowly  on  Giildmar.  "  It  was  Lovisa's  fault.  Ask  Lovisa 
about  it."  She  paused,  and  moistened  her  dry  lips  with  her 
tongue.  "  Where  is  your  crazy  lad  ?  "  she  asked,  almost 
anxiously.  "  Did  he  come  with  you  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead  I  "  answered  Giildmar,  with  grave  cold- 
ness. 

"  Dead ! "  And  to  their  utter  amazement,  she  threw  up 
her  arms  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  wild  laughter.  "  Dead  I 
Thank  God !  Thank  God !  Dead  !  And  through  no  fault 
of  mine  !  The  Lord  be  praised !  He  was  only  fit  for  death 
— never  mind  how  he  died — it  is  enough  that  he  is  dead — 
dead !  I  shall  see  him  no  more — he  cannot  curse  me  again  I 
— the  Lord  be  thankful  for  all  His  mercies  1  " 

And  her  laughter  ceased — she  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head  and  broke  into  a  passion  of  weeping. 

"  The  woman  must  be  craz3^ !  "  exclaimed  the  bonde,  thor- 
oughly mystified, — then  placing  his  arm  through  Erring- 
ton's,  he  said  impatiently,  "  You're  right,  my  lad !  We've 
had  enough  of  this.  Let  us  shake  the  dust  of  this  ac- 
cursed place  off  our  feet  and  get  home.  I'm  tired  out !  " 

They  left  the  minister's  dwelling  and  made  straight  for 
the  shore,  and  were  soon  well  on  their  journey  back  to  the 
farm  across  the  Fjord.  This  time  the  tide  was  with  them — 
the  evening  was  magnificent,  and  the  coolness  of  the  breeze, 
the  fresh  lapping  of  the  water  against  the  boat,  and  the 
brilliant  tranquility  of  the  landscape,  soon  calmed  their 
over-excited  feelings.  Thelma  was  waiting  for  them  under 
the  porch  as  usual,  looking  a  trifle  paler  than  her  wont, 
after  all  the  worry  and  fright  and  suspense  she  had  under- 
gone,— but  the  caresses  of  her  father  and  lover  soon 
brought  back  the  rosy  warmth  on  her  fair  face,  and  restored 
the  lustre  to  her  eyes.  Nothing  was  said  about  Sigurd's 
fate  just  then, — when  she  asked  for  her  faithful  servitor,  she 
was  told  he  had  "  gone  wandering  as  usual,"  and  it  was  not 
till  Errington  and  his  friends  returned  to  their  yacht  that 
old  Giildmar,  left  alone  with  his  daughter,  broke  the  sad 
news  to  her  very  gently.  But  the  shock,  so  unexpected 
and  terrible,  was  almost  too  much  for  her  already  over- 
wrought nerves, — and  such  tears  were  shed  for  Sigurd  as 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  233 

Sigurd  himself  might  have  noted  with  gratitude.  Sigurd — 
the  loving,  devoted  Sigurd — gone  for  ever!  Sigurd, — 
her  playmate, — her  servant, — her  worshiper, — dead !  Ah, 
how  tenderly  she  mourned  him ! — how  regretfully  she 
thought  of  his  wild  words  !  "  Mistress,  you  are  killing 
poor  Sigurd  !  "  Wistfully  she  wondered  if,  in  her  absorb- 
ing love  for  Philip,  she  had  neglected  the  poor  crazed  lad, 
— his  face,  in  all  its  pale,  piteous  appeal,  haunted  her,  and 
her  grief  for  his  loss  was  the  greatest  she  had  ever  known 
since  the  day  on  which  she  had  seen  her  mother  sink 
into  the  last  long  sleep.  Britta,  too,  wept  and  would  not 
be  comforted — she  had  been  fond  of  Sigurd  in  her  own  im- 
petuous little  way, — and  it  was  some  time  before  either  she 
or  her  mistress,  could  calm  themselves  sufficiently  to  retire 
to  rest.  And  long  after  Thelma  was  sleeping,  with  tears 
still  wet  on  her  cheeks,  her  father  sat  alone  under  his 
porch,  lost  in  melancholy  meditation.  Now  and  then  he 
ruffled  his  white  hair  impatiently  with  his  hand, — his 
daughter's  adventure  in  Mr.  Dyceworthy's  house  had  vexed 
his  proud  spirit.  He  knew  well  enough  that  the  minister's 
apology  meant  nothing — that  the  whole  village  would  be  set 
talking  against  Thelma  more,  even  than  before, — that  there 
was  no  possibility  of  preventing  scandal  so  long  as  Dyce- 
worthy  was  there  to  start  it.  He  thought  and  thought  and 
puzzled  himself  with  probabilities — till  at  last,  when  he 
finally  rose  to  enter  his  dwelling  for  the  night,  he  muttered 
half-aloud.  "If  it  must  be,  it  must!  And  the  sooner  the 
better  now,  I  think,  for  the  child's  sake." 

The  next  morning  Sir  Philip  arrived  unusually  early, — 
and  remained  shut  up  with  the  bonde,  in  private  conversa- 
tion for  more  than  an  hour.  At  the  expiration  of  that  time, 
Thelma  was  called,  and  taken  into  their  confidence.  The 
result  of  their  mysterious  discussion  was  not  immediately 
evident, — though  for  the  next  few  days,  the  farm-house  lost 
its  former  tranquility  and  became  a  scene  of  bustle  and  ex- 
citement. Moreover,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  Bosekop 
folk,  the  sailing-brig  known  as  the  Valkyrie,  belonging  to 
Olaf  Giildmar,  which  had  been  hauled  up  high  and  dry  on 
the  shore  for  many  months,  was  suddenly  seen  afloat  on 
the  Fjord,  and  Valdemar  Svensen,  Errington's  pilot,  ap- 
peared to  be  busily  engaged  upon  her  decks,  putting  every- 
thing in  ship-shape  order.  It  was  no  use  asking  him  any 
'luestions — he  was  not  the  man  to  gratify  impertinent 
curiosity.  By-and-by  a  rumor  got  about  in'  the  village-* 


234  THELMA. 

Lovisa  had  gained  her  point  in  one  particular, — the  Giild- 
mars  were  going  a.wa,y — going  to  leave  the  Altenfjord  ! 

At  first,  the  report  was  received  with  incredulity — but 
gained  ground,  as  people  began  to  notice  that  several  pack- 
ages were  being  taken  in  boats  from  the  farm-house  to  both 
the  Eulalie  and  the  Valkyrie.  These  preparations  excited 
a  great  deal  of  interest  and  inquisitiveness, — but  no  one 
dared  ask  for  information  as  to  what  was  about  to  happen. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Dyce worthy  was  confined  to  his  bed 
"  from  a  severe  cold  " — as  he  said,  and  therefore  was  un- 
able to  perform  his  favorite  mission  of  spy  ; — so  that  when, 
one  brilliant  morning,  Bosekop  was  startled  by  the  steam- 
whistle  of  the  Eulalie  blowing  furiously,  and  echoing  far 
and  wide  across  the  surrounding  rocky  islands,  several  of 
the  lounging  inhabitants  paused  on  the  shore,  or  sauntered 
down  to  the  rickety  pier,  to  see  what  was  the  cause  of  the 
clamor.  Even  the  long-suffering  minister  crawled  out  of 
bed  and  applied  his  fat,  meek  visage  to  his  window,  from 
whence  he  could  command  an  almost  uninterrupted  view  of 
the  glittering  water.  Great  was  his  amazement,  and  dis- 
comfiture to  see  the  magnificent  yacht  moving  majestically 
out  of  the  Fjord,  with  Guldmar's  brig  in  tow  behind  her, 
and  the  English  flag  fluttering  gaily  from  her  middle-mast, 
as  she  curtsied  her  farewell  to  the  dark  mountains,  and 
glided  swiftly  over  the  little  hissing  waves.  Had  Mr. 
Dyceworthy  been  possessed  of  a  field-glass,  he  might  have 
been  able  to  discern  on  her  deck,  the  figure  of  a  tall,  fan- 
girl,  who,  drawing  her  crimson  hood  over  her  rich  hair, 
stood  gazing  with  wistful,  dreamy  blue  eyes,  at  the  fast  re- 
ceding shores  of  the  Altenfjord — eyes  that  smiled  and  yet 
were  tearful. 

"  Are  you  sorry,  Thelma  ?  "  asked  Errington  gently,  as 
he  passed  one  arm  tenderly  round  her.  "  Sorry  to  trust 
your  life  to  me  ?  " 

She  laid  her  little  hand  in  playful  reproach  against  his 
lips. 

"  Sorry  !  you  foolish  boy !  I  am  glad  and  grateful ! 
But  it  is  sa3ring  good-bye  to  one's  old  life,  is  it  not  ?  The 
dear  old  home  ! — and  poor  Sigurd  1  " 

Her  voice  trembled,  and  bright  tears  fell. 

"  Sigurd  is  happy," — said  Errington  gravely,  taking  the 
hand  that  caressed  him,  and  reverently  kissing  it.  "  Be- 
lieve me,  love, — if  he  had  lived  some  cruel  misery  might 
have  befallen  him — it  is  better  as  it  is  J  " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  236 

Thelma  did  not  answer  for  a  minute  or  two — then  she 
said  suddenly — 

"  Philip,  do  you  remember  where  I  saw  you  first  ? " 

"  Perfectly  !  "  he  answered,  looking  fondly  into  the  sweet 
upturned  face.  "  Outside  a  wonderful  cavern,  which  I 
afterwards  explored." 

She  started  and  seemed  surprised.  "  You  went  inside  ? 
— you  saw ?  " 

u  Everything  !  " — and  Philip  related  his  adventure  of 
that  morning,  and  his  first  interview  with  Sigurd.  She 
listened  attentively — then  she  whispered  softly — 

"  My  mother  sleeps  there,  you  know, — yesterday  I  went 
to  take  her  some  flowers  for  the  last  time.  Father  came 
with  me — we  asked  her  blessing.  And  I  think  she  will 
give  it,  Philip — she  must  know  how  good  you  are  and  how 
happy  I  am." 

He  stroked  her  silky  hair  tenderly  and  was  silent.  The 
Eulalie  had  reached  the  outward  bend  of  the  Altenfjord, 
and  the  station  of  Bosekop  was  rapidly  disappearing. 
Olaf  Giildmar  and  the  others  came  on  deck  to  take  their 
last  look  of  it. 

"  I  shall  see  the  old  place  again,  I  doubt  not,  long  before 
you  do,  Thelma,  child,"  said  the  stout  old  bonde,  viewing, 
with  a  keen,  fond  glance,  the  stretch  of  the  vanishing 
scenery.  "  Though  when  once  you  are  safe  married  at 
Christiania,  Valdemar  Svensen  and  I  will  have  a  fine  toss 
on  the  seas  in  the  Valkyrie, — and  I  shall  grow  young  again 
in  the  storm  and  drift  of  the  foam  and  the  dark  wild  waves  ! 
Yes — a  wandering  life  suits  me — and  I  am  not  sorry  to 
have  a  taste  of  it  once  more.  There's  nothing  like  it — noth- 
ing like  a  broad  ocean  and  a  sweeping  wind !  " 

And  he  lifted  his  cap  and  drew  himself  erect,  inhaling  the 
air  like  an  old  warrior  scenting  battle.  The  others  listened, 
amused  at  his  enthusiasm, — and,  meanwhile,  the  Altenfjord 
altogether  disappeared,  and  the  Eulalie  was  soon  plunging 
in  a  rougher  sea.  They  were  bound  for  Christiania,  where 
it  was  decided  Thelma's  marriage  should  at  once  take  place 
— after  which  Sir  Philip  would  leave  his  yacht  at  the  dis- 
posal of  his  friends,  for  them  to  return  in  it  to  England. 
He  himself  intended  to  start  directly  for  Germany  with 
his  bride,  a  trip  in  which  Britta  was  to  accompany  them  as 
Thelma's  maid.  Olaf  Giildmar,  as  he  had  just  stated,  pur- 
posed making  a  voyage  in  the  Valkyrie,  as  soon  as  he 


236  THELMA. 

should  get  her  properly  manned  and  fitted,  which  he  meant 
to  do  at  Christiania. 

Such  were  their  plans, — and,  meanwhile,  they  were  all 
together  on  the  Eulalie, — a  happy  and  sociable  party, — 
Errington  having  resigned  his  cabin  to  the  use  of  his  fair 
betrothed,  and  her  little  maid,  whose  delight  at  the  novel 
change  in  her  life,  and  her  escape  from  the  persecution  of 
her  grandmother,  was  extreme.  Onward  they  sailed, — 
past  the  grand  Lofoden  Islands  and  all  the  magnificent 
scenery  extending  thence  to  Christiansund,  while  the  in- 
habitants of  Bosekop  looked  in  vain  for  their  return  to  the 
Altenfjord. 

The  short  summer  there  was  beginning  to  draw  to  a 
close, — some  of  the  birds  took  their  departure  from  the 
coast, — the  dull  routine  of  the  place  went  on  as  usual, 
rendered  even  duller  by  the  absence  of  the  "  witch  "  ele- 
ment of  discord, — a  circumstance  that  had  kept  the  super- 
stitious villagers,  more  or  less  on  a  lively  tension  of  re- 
ligious and  resentful  excitement — and  by-and-by,  the  right- 
ful minister  of  Bosekop  came  back  to  his  duties  and  re- 
leased the  Reverend  Charles  Dyceworthy,  wbo  straightway 
returned  to  his  loving  flock  in  Yorkshire.  It  was  difficult 
to  ascertain  whether  the  aged  Lovisa  was  satisfied  or 
wrathful,  at  the  departure  of  the  Guldmars  with  her  grand- 
daughter Britta  in  their  company — she  kept  herself  almost 
buried  in  her  hut  at  Talvig,  and  saw  no  one  but  Ulrika, 
who  seemed  to  grow  more  respectably  staid  than  ever,  and 
who,  as  a  prominent  member  of  the  Lutheran  congregation, 
distinguished  herself  greatly  by  her  godly  bearing  and  un- 
compromising gloom. 

Little  by  little,  the  gossips  ceased  to  talk  about  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  "  white  witch  "  and  her  father — little  by 
little  they  ceased  to  speculate  as  to  whether  the  rich  Eng- 
lishman, Sir  Philip  Errington,  really  meant  to  marry  her 
— a  consummation  of  things  which  none  of  them  seemed  to 
think  likely — the  absence  of  their  hated  neighbors,  was  felt 
by  them  as  a  relief,  while  the  rumored  fate  of  the  crazy 
Sigurd  was  of  course  looked  upon  as  evidence  of  fresh  crime 
on  the  part  of  the  "  pagan,"  who  was  accused  of  having,  in 
some  way  or  other,  caused  the  unfortunate  lad's  death. 
And  the  old  farm-house  on  the  pine-covered  knoll  was  shut 
up  and  silent, — its  doors  and  windows  safely  barred  against 
wind  and  rain, — and  only  the  doves,  left  to  forage  for  them- 
selves, crooned  upon  its  roof  all  day,  or  strutting  ^n  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  237 

deserted  paths,  ruffled  their  plumage  in  melanchoty  medi- 
tation, as  though  wondering  at  the  absence  of  the  fair 
ruling  spirit  of  the  place,  whose  smile  had  been  brighter 
than  the  sunshine.  The  villagers  avoided  it  as  though  it 
were  haunted — the  roses  drooped  and  died  untended, — and 
by  degrees  the  old  homestead  grew  to  look  like  a  quaint 
little  picture  of  forgotten  joys,  with  its  deserted  porch  and 
fading  flowers. 

Meanwhile,  a  thrill  of  amazement,  incredulity,  disap- 
pointment, indignation,  and  horror,  rushed  like  a  violent 
electric  shock  through  the  upper  circles  of  London  society, 
arousing  the  deepest  disgust  in  the  breasts  of  match-mak- 
ing matrons,  and  seriously  ruffling  the  prett}'  feathers  of 
certain  bird-like  beauties  who  had  just  began  to  try  their 
wings,  and  who  "  had  expectations."  The  cause  of  the  sen- 
sation was  very  simple.  It  was  an  announcement  in  the 
Times — under  the  head  of  "  Marriages  " — and  ran  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  At  the  English  Consulate,  Christiania,  Sir  Philip 
Bruce-Errington,  Bart.,  to  Thelma,  only  daughter  of  Olaf 
Giildinar,  Bonde,  of  the  Altenfjord,  Norway.  No  cards." 


BOOK  II. 

THE  LAID  OF  MOCKERY 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

"There's  nothing  serious  in  mortality  : 
All  is  but  toys." 

MACBETH. 

"  I  THINK,"  said  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  deliberately,  laying 
down  the  Morning  Post  beside  her  breakfast-cup,  "  I  think 
his  conduct  is  perfectly  disgraceful !  " 

Mr.  Rush-Marvelle,  a  lean  gentleman  with  a  sallow, 
clean-shaven  face  and  an  apologetic,  almost  frightened  man- 
ner, looked  up  hastily. 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  my  dear  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  of  that  wretched  young  man  Bruce-Errington ! 
He  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself!  " 

Aud  Mrs.  Marvelle  fixed  her  glasses  more  firmly  on  her 
small  nose,  and  regarded  her  husband  almost  reproachfully. 
"  Don't  tell  me,  Montague,  that  you've  forgotten  that  scan- 
dal about  him !  He  went  off  last  year,  in  the  middle  of 
the  season,  to  Norway,  in  his  yacht,  with  three  of  the  very 
fastest  fellows  he  could  pick  out  from  his  acquaintance — 
regular  reprobates,  so  I'm  told — and  after  leading  the 
most  awful  life  out  there,  making  love  to  all  the  peasant 
girls  in  the  place,  he  married  one  of  them, — a  common 
farmer's  daughter.  Don't  you  remember?  We  saw  the 
announcement  of  his  marriage  in  the  Times" 

"  Ah  yes,  yes !  "  And  Mr,  Rush-Marvelle  smiled  a  pro- 
pitiatory smile,  intended  to  soothe  the  evidently  irritated 
feelings  of  his  better-half,  of  whom  he  stood  always  in 
awe.  "  Of  course,  of  course !  A  very  sad  mesalliance. 
Yes,  yes  !  Poor  fellow  !  And  is  there  fresh  news  of  him  ?  " 

"  Read  that" — and  the  lady  handed  the  Morning  Post 
across  the  table,  indicating  by  a  dent  of  her  polished  fin- 
ger-nail, the  paragraph  that  had  offended  her  sense  of  social 
dismitv.  Mr.  Marvelle  read  it  with  almost  laborious  care 


240  THELMA. 

— though  it  was  remarkably  short  and  easy  of  comprehen- 
sion. 

"  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Bruce-Errington  have  arrived  at 
their  house  in  Prince's  Gate  from  Errington  Manor." 

"  Well,  my  dear  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  a  furtive  and  anx- 
ious glance  at  his  wife.  "  I  suppose — er — it — er — it  was  to 
be  expected  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  not  to  be  expected,"  said  Mrs.  Rush-Mar- 
velle,  rearing  her  head,  and  heaving  her  ample  bosom  to  and 
fro  in  rather  a  tumultuous  manner.  "  Of  course  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  Bruce-Errington  would  behave  like  a  fool 
— his  father  was  a  fool  before  him.  But  I  say  it  was  not 
to  be  expected  that  he  would  outrage  society  b}r  bringing 
that  common  wife  of  his  to  London,  and  expecting  us  to 
receive  her !  The  thing  is  perfectljr  scandalous !  He  has 
had  the  decency  to  keep  away  from  town  ever  since  his 
marriage — part  of  the  time  he  has  staid  abroad,  and  since 
January  he  has  been  at  his  place  in  Warwickshire, — and 
this  time — observe  this  !  "  and  Mrs.  Marvelle  looked  most 
impressive — u  not  a  soul  has  been  invited  to  the  Manor — 
not  a  living  soul  1  The  house  used  to  be  full  of  people 
during  the  winter  season — of  course,  now,  he  dare  not  ask 
anybody  lest  they  should  be  shocked  at  his  wife's  ignor- 
ance. That's  as  clear  as  daylight !  And  now  he  has  the 
impudence  to  actually  bring  her  here, — into  society!  Good 
Heavens  1  He  must  be  mad !  He  will  be  laughed  at 
wherever  he  goes !  " 

Mr.  Rush-Marvelle  scratched  his  bony  chin  perplexedly. 

"  It  makes  it  a  little  awkward  for — for  you,"  he  re- 
marked feelingly. 

"  Awkward !  It  is  abominable  !  "  And  Mrs.  Marvelle 
rose  from  her  chair,  and  shook  out  the  voluminous  train  of 
her  silken  breakfast-gown,  an  elaborate  combination  of 
crimson  with  grey  chinchilla  fur.  "  I  shall  have  to  call  on 
the  creature — just  imagine  it !  It  is  most  unfortunate  for 
me  that  I  happen  to  be  one  of  Bruce-Errington 's  oldest 
friends— otherwise  I  might  have  passed  him  over  in  some 
way — as  it  is  I  can't.  But  fancy  having  to  meet  a  great 
coarse  peasant  woman,  who,  I'm  certain,  will  only  be  able 
to  talk  about  fish  and  whale-oil !  It  is  really  quite  dread- 
ful !  " 

Mr.  Rush-Marvelle  permitted  himself  to  smile  faintly. 

"  Let  us  hope  she  will  not  turn  out  so  badly,"  he  said 
soothingly, — "  but,  you  know,  if  she  proves  to  be — er — a 


TSE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  241 

common  person  of,-  -er — a  very  uneducated  type — you  can 
always  let  her  drop  gently — quite  gently  1 " 

And  he  waved  his  skinny  hand  with  an  explanatory 
flourish. 

But  Mrs.  Marvelle  did  not  accept  his  suggestion  in  good 
part. 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,"  she  said  somewhat  testily. 
"  Keep  to  your  own  business,  Montague,  such  as  it  is.  The 
law  suits  your  particular  form  of  brain — society  does  not. 
You  would  never  be  in  society  at  all  if  it  were  not  for  me — 
now  you  know  you  wouldn't  1 " 

"  My  love,"  said  Mr.  Marvelle,  with  a  look  of  meek  ad- 
miration at  his  wife's  majestic  proportions.  "  I  am  aware 
of  it !  I  always  do  you  justice.  You  are  a  remarkable 
woman !  " 

Mrs.  Marvelle  smiled,  somewhat  mollified.  "  You  see," 
she  then  condescended  to  explain — "  the  whole  thing  is  so 
extremely  disappointing  to  me.  I  wanted  Marcia  Van 
Clupp  to  go  in  for  the  Errington  stakes, — it  would  have 
been  such  an  excellent  match, — money  on  both  sides.  And 
Marcia  would  have  been  just  the  girl  to  look  after  that 
place  down  in  Warwickshire — the  house  is  going  to  rack 
and  ruin,  in  my  opinion." 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  agreed  her  husband  mildly.  "  Van  Clupp 
is  a  fine  girl — a  very  fine  girl !  No  end  of '  go '  in  her. 
And  so  Errington  Manor  needs  a  good  deal  of  repairing, 
perhaps  ? "  This  query  was  put  by  Mr.  Marvelle,  with  his  head 
very  much  on  one  side,  and  his  bilious  eyes  blinking 
drowsily. 

"  I  don't  know  about  repairs,"  replied  Mrs.  Marvelle. 
"  It  is  a  magnificent  place,  and  certainly  the  grounds  are 
ravishing.  But  one  of  the  best  rooms  in  the  house,  is  the 
former  Lady  Errington 's  boudoir — it  is  full  of  old-fashioned 
dirty  furniture,  and  Bruce-Errington  won't  have  it  touched, 
— he  will  insist  on  keeping  it  as  his  mother  left  it.  Now 
that  is  ridiculous — perfectly  morbid  !  It's  just  the  same 
thing  with  his  father's  library — he  won't  have  that  touched 
either — and  the  ceiling  wants  fresh  paint,  and  the  windows 
want  new  curtains — and  all  sorts  of  things  ought  to  be  done. 
Marcia  would  have  managed  all  that  splendidly — she'd  have 
had  everything  new  throughout — Americans  are  so  quick, 
and  there's  no  nonsensical  antiquated  sentiment  about 
Marcia." 

"  She  might  even  have  had  new  pictures  and  done  away 
16 


242  TBELMA. 

with  the  old  ones,"  observed  Mr.  Marvelle,  with  a  feeble 
attempt  at  satire.  His  wife  darted  a  keen  look  at  him, 
but  smiled  a  little  too.  She  was  not  without  a  sense  of 
humor. 

u  Nonsense,  Montague !  She  knows  the  value  of  works 
of  art  better  than  many  a  so-called  connoisseur.  I  won't 
have  you  make  fun  of  her.  Poor  girl!  She  did  speculate 
on  Bruce-Errington, — you  know  he  was  very  attentive  to 
her,  at  that  ball  I  gave  just  before  he  went  oft'  to  Norway." 

"  He  certainly  seemed  rather  amused  by  her,"  said  Mr. 
Marvelle.  "  Did  she  take  it  to  heart  when  she  heard  he  was 
married  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Marvelle  loftily.  "  She 
has  too  much  sense.  She  merely  said, '  All  right  I  I  must 
stick  to  Masherville  ! '  ; 

Mr.  Marvelle  nodded  blandly.  "  Admirable, — admirable  1 " 
he  murmured,  with  a  soft  little  laugh.  "  A  very  clever  girl 
— a  very  bright  creature !  And  really  there  are  worse 
fellows  than  Masherville !  The  title  is  old." 

"  Yes,  the  title  is  all  very  well,"  retorted  his  wife — "  but 
there's  no  money — or  at  least  very  little." 

"  Marcia  has  sufficient  to  cover  any  deficit  ?  "  suggested 
Mr.  Marvelle,  in  a  tone  of  meek  inquiry. 

"  An  American  woman  never  has  sufficient,"  declared 
Mrs.  Marvelle.  "  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  And 
poor  dear  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  has  so  set  her  heart  on  a  really 
brillianf  match  for  her  girl — and  I  had  positively  promised 
she  should  have  Bruce-Errington.  It  is  really  too  bad !  " 
And  Mrs.  Marvelle  paced  the  room  with  a  stately,  sweeping 
movement,  pausing  every  now  and  then  to  glance  at  herself 
approvingly  in  the  mirror  above  the  chimney-piece,  while 
her  husband  resumed  his  perusal  of  the  Times.  By-and-by 
she  said  abruptly — 

"  Montague ! " 

Mr.  Marvelle  dropped  his  paper  with  an  alarmed  air. 

"  My  dear  !  " 

"  I  shall  go  to  Clara  Winsleigh  this  morning — and  see 
what  she  means  to  do  in  the  matter.  Poor  Clara  !  She  must- 
be  disgusted  at  the  whole  affair !  " 

"  She  had  rather  a  liking  for  Errington,  hadn't  she  ?  "  in- 
quired Mr.  Marvelle,  folding  up  the  Times  in  a  neat  parcel, 
preparatory  to  taking  it  with  him  in  order  to  read  it  in  peace 
on  his  way  to  the  Law  Courts. 

"  Liking  ?     Well!  "     And  Mrs.  Marvelle,  looking  at  her« 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  243 

self  once  more  in  the  glass,  carefully  arranged  the  ruffle  of 
Honiton  lace  about  her  massive  throat, — "  It  was  a  little 
more  than  liking — though,  of  course,  her  feelings  were  per- 
fectly proper,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, — at  least,  I  suppose 
they  were  I  She  had  a  great  friendship  for  him, — one  of 
those  emotional,  perfectly  spiritual  and  innocent  attach- 
ments, I  believe,  which  are  so  rare  in  this  wicked  world." 
Mrs.  Marvelle  sighed,  then  suddenly  becoming  practical 
again,  she  continued.  "  Yes,  I  shall  go  there  and  stop  to 
luncheon,  and  talk  this  thing  over.  Then  I'll  drive  on  to 
the  Van  Clupps,  and  bring  Marcia  home  to  dinner.  I  sup- 
pose you  don't  object  ?  " 

u  Object  I  M  Mr.  Marvelle  made  a  deprecatory  gesture, 
and  raised  his  eyes  in  wonder.  As  if  he  dared  object  to 
anything  whatsoever  that  his  wife  desired  ! 

She  smiled  graciously  as  he  approached,  and  respectfully 
kissed  her  smooth  cool  cheek,  before  taking  his  departure  for 
his  daily  work  as  a  lawyer  in  the  city,  and  when  he  was 
gone,  she  betook  herself  to  her  own  small  boudoir,  where 
she  busied  herself  for  more  than  an  hour  in  writing  letters, 
and  answering  invitations. 

She  was,  in  her  own  line,  a  person  of  importance.  She 
made  it  her  business  to  know  everything  and  everybody — 
she  was  fond  of  meddling  with  other  people's  domestic  con- 
cerns, and  she  had  a  finger  in  every  family  pie.  She  was, 
moreover,  a  regular  match-maker, — fond  of  taking  young 
ladies  under  her  maternal  wing,  and"  introducing  "  them  to 
the  proper  quarters,  and  when,  as  was  often  the  case,  a  dis- 
tinguished American  of  many  dollars  but  no  influence 
offered  her  three  or  four  hundred  guineas  for  chaperoning 
his  daughter  into  English  society  and  marrying  her  well, 
Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  pocketed  the  douceur  quite  gracefully, 
and  did  her  best  for  the  girl.  She  was  a  good-looking 
woman,  tall,  portly,  and  with  an  air  of  distinction  about  her, 
though  her  features  were  by  no  means  striking,  and  the 
smallness  of  her  nose  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
majesty  of  her  form — but  she  had  a  very  charming  smile, 
and  a  pleasant,  taking  manner,  and  she  was  universally  ad- 
mired in  that  particular  "  set  "  wherein  she  moved.  Girls 
adored  her,  and  wrote  her  gushing  letters,  full  of  the  most 
dulcet  flatteries — married  ladies  on  the  verge  of  a  scandal 
came  to  her  to  help  them  out  of  their  difficulties — old 
dowagers,  troubled  with  rheumatism  or  refractory  daugh- 
ters, poured  their  troubles  into  her  sympathizing  ears — in 


244  THELMA. 

short,  her  hands  were  full  of  other  people's  business  to  s,u-.  tt 
an  extent  xhat  she  had  scarcely  any  leisure  to  attend  to  her 
own.  Mr.  Rush-Marvelle, but  why  describe  this  gentle- 
man at  all  ?  He  was  a  mere  nonentity — known  simply  as 
the  husband  of  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle.  He  knew  he  was  no- 
body— and,  unlike  many  men  placed  in  a  similar  position, 
he  was  satisfied  with  his  lot.  He  admired  his  wife  intensely, 
and  never  failed  to  flatter  her  vanity  to  the  utmost  excess, 
so  that,  on  the  whole,  they  were  excellent  friends,  and  agreed 
much  better  than  most  married  people. 

It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day,  when  Mrs.  Rush- 
Marvelle's  neat  little  brougham  and  pair  stopped  at  Lord 
Winsleigh's  great  house  in  Park  Lane.  A  gorgeous  flunkey 
threw  open  the  door  with  a  virtuously  severe  expression  on 
his  breakfast-flushed  countenance, — an  expression  which 
relaxed  into  a  smile  of  condescension  on  seeing  who  the 
visitor  was. 

'"I  suppose  Lady  Winsleigh  is  at  home,  Briggs?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Marvelle,  with  the  air  of  one  familiar  with  the 
ways  of  the  household. 

"  Yes'm,"  replied  Briggs  slowty,  taking  in  the  "  style  " 
of  Mrs  Rush-Marvelle's  bonnet,  and  mentally  calculating  its 
cost.  "  Her  ladyship  is  in  the  boo-dwar." 

u  I'll  go  there,"  said  Mrs.  Marvelle,  stepping  into  the  hall, 
and  beginning  to  walk  across  it,  in  her  own  important  and 
self-assertive  manner  "  You  needn't  announce  me." 

Briggs  closed  the  street-door,  settled  his  powdered  wig, 
and  looked  after  her  meditatively.  Then  he  shut  up  one 
eye  in  a  sufficiently  laborious  manner  and  grinned.  After 
this  he  retired  slowly  to  a  small  ante-room,  where  he  found 
the  World  with  its  leaves  uncut.  Taking  up  his  master's 
ivory  paper-knife,  he  proceeded  to  remedy  this  slight  incon- 
venience,— and,  yawning  heavily,  he  seated  himself  in  a 
velvet  arm-chair,  and  was  soon  absorbed  in  perusing  the 
pages  of  the  journal  in  question. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Marvelle,  in  her  way  across  the  great 
hall  to  the  "  boo-dwar,"  had  been  interrupted  and  nearly 
knocked  down  by  the  playful  embrace  of  a  handsome  boy, 
who  sprang  out  upon  her  suddenly  with  a  shout  of  laughter, 
— a  boy  of  about  twelve  years  old,  with  frank,  bright  blue 
eyes  and  clustering  dark  curls.  . 

"  Hullo,  Mimsey  !  "  cried  this  young  gentleman — "  here 
you  are  again  !  Do  you  want  to  see  papa  ?  Papa's  in 
there !  " — pointing  to  the  door  from  which  he  had  emerged 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  245 

— "  he's  correcting  my  Latin  exercise.  Five  good  marks 
to-day,  and  I'm  going  to  the  circus  this  afternoon !  Isn't 
it  jolly  ? " 

"  Dear  me,  Ernest ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marvelle  half 
crossly,  yet  with  an  indulgent  smile, — "  I  wish  you  would 
not  be  so  boisterous !  You've  nearly  knocked  my  bonnet 
off." 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  laughed  Ernest ;  "  it's  as  straight  as — 
wait  a  bit !  "  And  waving  a  lead  pencil  in  the  air,  he  drew 
an  imaginary  stroke  with  it.  "  The  middle  feather  is  bob- 
bing up  and  down  just  on  a  line  with  your  nose — it  couldn't 
be  better !  " 

"  There,  go  along,  you  silly  boy !  "  said  Mrs.  Marvelle, 
amused  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Get  back  to  your  lessons. 
There'll  be  no  circus  for  3-011  if  you  don't  behave  properly  ! 
I'm  going  to  see  your  mother." 

"  Mamma's  reading,"  announced  Ernest.  "  Mudie's  cart 
has  just  been  and  brought  a  lot  of  new  novels.  Mamma 
wants  to  finish  them  all  before  night.  I  say,  are  you  going 
to  stop  to  lunch  ?  " 

"  Ernest,  why  are  you  making  such  a  noise  in  the  pas- 
sage ?  "  said  a  gentle,  grave  voice  at  this  juncture.  "  I  am 
waiting  for  you,  you  know.  You  haven't  finished  your 
work  yet.  Ah,  Mrs.  Marvelle  !  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

And  Lord  Winsleigh  came  forward  and  shook  hands. 
"  You  will  find  her  ladyship  in,  I  believe.  She  will  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you.  This  young  scapegrace,"  here  he  car- 
essed his  son's  clustering  curls  tenderly — "  has  not  yet  done 
with  his  lessons — the  idea  of  the  circus  to-day  seems  to 
have  turned  his  head." 

"  Papa,  you  promised  you'd  let  me  off  Virgil  this  morn- 
ing !  "  cried  Ernest,  slipping  his  arm  coaxingly  through  his 
father's.  Lord  Winsleigh  smiled.  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle 
shook  her  head  with  a  sort  of  mild  reproachfulness. 

'•  He  really  ought  to  go  to  school,"  she  said,  feigning 
severity.  "  You  will  find  him  too  much  for  you,  Wins- 
leigh, in  a  little  while." 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Lord  Winsleigh,  though  an  anx- 
ious look  troubled  for  an  instant  the  calm  of  his  deep-set 
grey  eyes.  "  We  get  on  very  well  together,  don't  we, 
Ernest  ?  "  The  boy  glanced  up  fondly  at  his  father's  face 
and  nodded  emphatically.  "  At  a  public-school,  you  see, 
the  boys  are  educated  on  hard  and  fast  lines — all  ground 
down  to  one  pattern, — there's  no  chance  of  any  originality 


246  THELMA. 

possible.  But  don't  let  me  detain  you,  Mrs.  Marvelle — you 
have  no  doubt  much  to  say  to  Lady  Winsleigh.  Come, 
Ernest !  If  I  let  you  off  Virgil,  you  must  do  the  rest  of 
your  work  thoroughly." 

And  with  a  courteous  salute,  the  grave,  kindly-faced 
nobleman  re-entered  his  library,  his  young  son  clinging  to 
his  arm  and  pouring  forth  boyish  confidences,  which  seem- 
ingly  received  instant  attention  and  sympathy, — while 
Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  looked  after  their  retreating  figures 
with  something  of  doubt  and  wonder  on  her  placid  features. 
But  whatever  her  thougnts,  they  were  not  made  manifest 
just  then.  Arriving  at  a  door  draped  richly  with  old-gold 
plush  and  saiin,  she  knocked. 

"  Come  in !  "  cried  a  voice  that,  though  sweet  in  tone,  was 
also  somfevvhat  petulant. 

Mrs.  Marvelle  at  once  entered,  and  the  occupant  of  the 
room  sprang  up  in  haste  from  her  luxurious  reading-chair, 
where  she  was  having  her  long  tresses  brushed  out  by  a 
prim-looking  maid,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  My  dearest  Mimsey ! "  she  cried, "  this  is  quite  too  sweet 
of  you  !  You're  just  the  very  person  I  wanted  to  see  !  " 
And  she  drew  an  easy  fauteuil  to  the  sparkling  fire, — for 
the  weather  was  cold,  with  that  particularly  cruel  coldness 
common  to  an  English  May, — and  dismissed  her  attendant. 
"  Now  sit  down,  you  dear  old  darling,"  she  continued,  "  and 
let  me  have  all  the  news !  " 

Throwing  herself  back  on  her  lounge,  she  laughed,  and 
tossed  her  waving  hair  loose  over  her  shoulders,  as  the  maid 
had  left  it, — then  she  arranged,  with  a  coquettish  touch 
here  and  there,  the  folds  of  her  pale  pink  dressing-gown, 
showered  with  delicate  Valenciennes.  She  was  undeniably 
a  lovely  woman.  Tall  and  elegantly  formed,  with  an  almost 
regal  grace  of  manner,  Clara,  Lady  Winsleigh,  deserved  to 
be  considered,  as  she  was,  one  of  the  reigning  beauties  of 
the  day.  Her  full  dark  eyes  were  of  a  bewitching  and 
dangerous  softness, — her  complexion  was  pale,  but  of  such 
a  creamy,  transparent  pallor  as  to  be  almost  brilliant, — her 
mouth  was  small  and  exquisitely  shaped.  True, — her  long 
eyelashes  were  not  altogether  innocent  of  "  kohl," — true, 
there  was  a  faint  odor  about  her  as  of  rare  perfumes  and 
cosmetics, — true,  there  was  something  not  altogether  sin- 
cere or  natural  even  in  her  raArishing  smile  and  fascinating 
ways — but  few,  save  cynics,  could  reasonably  dispute  her 
physical  perfections,  or  question  the  right  she  had  to  tempt 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  247 

and  arouse  the  passions  of  men,  or  to  trample  underfoot, 
with  an  air  of  insolent  superiority,  the  feelings  of  women 
less  fair  and  fortunate.  Most  of  her  sex  envied  her, — but 
Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle,  who  was  past  the  prime  of  life,  and, 
who,  moreover,  gained  her  social  successes  through  intelli- 
gence and  tact  alone,  was  far  too  sensible  to  grudge  any 
woman  her  beauty.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  a  frank  ad- 
mirer of  handsome  persons,  and  she  surveyed  Lady  Wius- 
leigh  now  through  her  glasses  with  a  smile  of  bland 
approval. 

"  You  are  looking  very  well,  Clara,"  she  said.  "  Let  me 
see — you  went  to  Kissingen  in  the  summer,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  laughed  her  ladyship.  "  It  was  deli- 
cious 1  I  suppose  you  know  Lennie  came  after  me  there  I 
Wasn't  it  ridiculous  !  " 

Mrs.  Marvelle  coughed  dubiously.  "  Didn't  Winsleigh 
put  in  an  appearance  at  all  ?  "  she  asked. 

Lady  Clara's  brow  clouded.  u  Oh  yes  !  For  a  couple  of 
weeks  or  so.  Ernest  came  with  him,  of  course,  and  they 
rambled  about  together  all  the  time.  The  boy  enjoyed  it." 
"  I  remember  now,"  said  Mrs.  Marvelle.  "  But  I've  not 
seen  anything  of  you  since  you  came  back,  Clara,  except 
once  in  the  park  and  once  at  the  theatre.  You've  been  all 
the  time  at  Winsleigh  Court — by-the-by,  was  Sir  Francis 
Lennox  there  too  ?  " 

"  Why,  naturally  !  "  replied  the  beauty,  with  a  cool  smile. 
"  He  follows  me  everywhere  like  a  dog  I     Poor  Lennie  1  " 
Again  the  elder  lady  coughed  significantly. 
Clara  Winsleigh  broke  into  a  ringing  peal  of  laughter, 
and  rising  from  her  lounge,  knelt  beside  her  visitor  in  a 
very  pretty  coaxing  attitude. 

"  Come,  Mimsey  !  '  she  said,  "  you  are  not  going  to  be 
'  proper  '  at  this  time  of  day  I  That  would  be  a  joke  ! 
Darling,  indulgent,  good  old  Mimsey ! — you  don't  mean  to 
turn  into  a  prim,  prosy,  cross  Mrs.  Grundy  !  I  won't  be- 
lieve it !  And  you  mustn't  be  severe  on  poor  Lennie — he's 
such  a  docile,  good  boy,  and  really  not  bad-looking  !  " 

Mrs.  Marvelle  fidgeted  a  little  on  her  chair.  "  I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  Lennie,  as  you  call  him,"  she  said, 
rather  testily — "  Only  I  think  you'd  better  be  careful  how 
far  you  go  with  him.  I  came  to  consult  you  on  something 
quite  different.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  the 
Bruce-Errington  business  ?  You  know  it  was  in  the  Post 
to-day  that  they've  arrived  in  town.  The  idea  of  Sir 


248  THELMA. 

Philip  bringing  his  common  wife  into  society ! — It's  too 
ridiculous !  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
disdainful^. 

"  What  am  I  going  to  do?"  she  repeated,  in  accents  of 
bitter  contempt.  "  Why,  receive  them,  of  course  !  It  will 
be  the  greatest  punishment  Bruce-Err  in  gton  can  have! 
I'll  get  all  the  best  people  here  that  I  know — and  he  shall 
bring  his  peasant  woman  among  them,  and  blush  for  her! 
It  will  be  the  greatest  fun  out !  Fancy  a  Norwegian 
farmer's  girl  lumbering  along  with  her  great  feet  and  red 
hands !  .  .  .  and,  perhaps,  not  knowing  whether  to  eat  an 
ice  with  a  spoon  or  with  her  fingers  !  I  tell  you  Bruce-Er- 
rington  will  be  ready  to  die  for  shame — and  serve  him  right 
too ! " 

Mrs.  Marvelle  was  rather  startled  at  the  harsh,  derisive 
laughter  with  which  her  ladyship  concluded  her  excited  ob- 
servations, but  she  merely  observed  mildly — 

"  Well,  then,  you  will  leave  cards  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ?  " 

"  Very  good — so  shall  I,"  and  Mrs.  Marvelle  sighed  re- 
signedly. "  What  must  be,  must  be !  But  it's  really 
dreadful  to  think  of  it  all — I  would  never  have  believed 
Philip  Errington  could  have  so  disgraced  himself!  " 

"  He  is  no  gentleman  !  "  said  Lady  Winsleigh  freezingly. 
"  He  has  low  tastes  and  low  desires.  He  and  his  friend 
Lorimer  are  two  cac/.s,  in  my  opinion  !  " 

"Clara!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marvelle  warningly.  "You 
were  fond  of  him  once! — now,  don't  deny  it!" 

"  Why  should  I  deny  it?"  and  her  ladyship's  dark  eyes 
blazed  with  concentrated  fury.  "I  loved  him!  There!  I 
would  have  done  anything  for  him!  He  might  have  trod- 
den me  down  under  his  feet!  He  knew  it  well  enough — 
cold,  cruel,  heartless  cynic  as  he  was  and  is!  Yes,  I  loved 
him! — but  I  hate  him  now!" 

And  she  stamped  her  foot  to  give  emphasis  to  her  wild 
words.  Mrs.  Marvelle  raised  her  hands  and  eyes  in  utter 
amazement. 

"Clara,  Clara!  Pray,  pray  be  careful!  Suppose  any 
one  else  heard  you  going  on  in  this  manner!  Your  reputa- 
tion would  suffer,  I  assure  you!  Eeally,  you're  horribly 
reckless!  Just  think  of  your  husband " 

"My  husband!"  and  a  cold  gleam  of  satire  played 
round  Lady  Winsleigh's  proud  mouth.  She  paused  and 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  249 

laughed  a  little.  Then  she  resumed  in  her  old  careless  way 
— "  You  must  be  getting  very  goody-goody,  Mimsey,  to 
talk  to  me  about  my  husband  1  Why  don't  you  read  me  a 
lecture  on  the  duties  of  wives  and  the  education  of  chil- 
dren ?  I  am  sure  you  know  how  profoundly  it  would 
interest  me !  " 

She  paced  up  and  down  the  room  slowly  while  Mrs  Mar- 
velle  remained  discreetly  silent.  Presently  there  came  a 
tap  at  the  door,  and  the  gorgeous  Briggs  entered.  He 
held  himself  like  an  automaton,  and  spoke  as  though  re- 
peating a  lesson. 

"  His  lordship's  compliments,  and  will  her  la 'ship  lunch 
in  the  dining-room  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Winsleigh  curtly.  "  Luncheon  for  my- 
self and  Mrs.  Marvelle  can  be  sent  up  here." 

Briggs  still  remained  immovable.  "  His  lordship  wished 
to  know  if  Master  Hernest  was  to  come  to  your  la'ship  be- 
fore goin'  out  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  and  Lady  Winsleigh's  brows  drew 
together  in  a  frown.  "  The  boy  is  a  perfect  nuisance !  " 

Briggs  bowed  and  vanished.  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  grew 
more  and  more  restless.  She  was  a  good-hearted  woman, 
and  there  was  something  in  the  nature  of  Clara  Winsleigh 
that,  in  spite  of  her  easy-going  conscience,  she  could  not 
altogether  approve  of. 

"  Do  you  never  lunch  with  your  husband,  Clara  ?  "  she 
asked  at  last. 

Lady  Winsleigh  looked  surprised.  "  Very  seldom.  Only 
when  there  is  company,  and  I  am  compelled  to  be  present. 
A  domestic  meal  would  be  too  ennuyant !  I  wonder  you 
can  think  of  such  a  thing  I  And  we  generally  dine  out." 

Mrs.  Marvelle  was  silent  again,  and,  when  she  did  speak, 
it  was  on  a  less  delicate  matter. 

"When  is  your  great  'crush,'  Clara?"  she  inquired. 
"  You  sent  me  a  card,  but  I  forget  the  date." 

"  On  the  twenty-fifth,"  replied  Lady  Winsleigh.  "  This 
is  the  fifteenth.  I  shall  call  on  Lady  Bruce-Errington  " — 
here  she  smiled  scornfully — "  this  afternoon — and  to-morrow 
I  shall  send  them  their  invitations.  My  only  fear  is  whether 
they  mayn't  refuse  to  come.  I  would  not  miss  the  chance 
for  the  world !  I  want  my  house  to  be  the  first  in  which 
her  peasant-ladyship  distinguishes  herself  by  her  blun- 
ders !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  it'll  be  quite  a  scandal  I  "  sighed  Mrs.  Rash- 


250  THELMA. 

Marvelle.  '*  Quite  !  Such  a  pity  1  Bruce-Errington  was 
such  a  promising,  handsome  young  man  !  " 

At  that  moment  Briggs  appeared  again  with  an  elegantly 
set  luncheon-tray,  which  he  placed  on  the  table  with  a 
flourish. 

"  Order  the  carriage  at  half-past  three,"  commanded  Lady 
Winsleigh.  "  And  tell  Mrs.  Marvelle's  coachman  that  he 
needn't  wait, — I'll  drive  her  home  myself." 

"  But,  my  dear  Clara,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Marvelle,  "  I 
must  call  at  the  Van  Clupps' — 

"  I'll  call  there  with  you.  I  owe  them  a  visit.  Has  Mar- 
cia  caught  young  Masherville  yet  ?  " 

"  Well,"  hesitated  Mrs.  Marvelle,  "  he  is  rather  slippery, 
you  know — so  undecided  and  wavering  !  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  laughed.  "  Never  mind  that !  Marcia's 
a  match  for  him  1  Rather  a  taking  girl — only  what  an 
accent !  My  nerves  are  on  edge  whenever  I  hear  her 
speak." 

"  It's  a  pity  she  can't  conquer  that  defect,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Marvelle.  "  I  know  she  has  tried.  But,  after  all,  they're 
not  the  best  sort  of  Americans — 

"  The  best  sort !  I  should  think  not !  But  they're  of  the 
richest  sort,  and  that's  something,  Mimsey  !  Besides,  though 
everybody  knows  what  Van  Clupp's  father  was,  they  make 
a  good  pretense  at  being  well-born, — they  don't  cram  their 
low  connections  down  your  throat,  as  Bruce-Errington 
wants  to  do  with  his  common  wife.  They  ignore  all  their 
vulgar  belongings  delightfully !  They've  been  cruelly 
*  cut '  by  Mrs.  Rippington — she's  American — but,  then, 
she's  perfect  style.  Do  you  remember  that  big  '  at  home  ' 
at  the  Van  Clupp's  when  they  had  a  band  to  play  in  the 
back-yard,  and  everybody  was  deafened  by  the  noise? 
Wasn't  it  quite  too  ridiculous  !  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  laughed  over  this  reminiscence,  and  then 
betook  herself  to  the  consideration  of  lunch, — a  tasty  meal 
which  both  she  and  Mrs.  Marvelle  evidently  enjoyed,  flav* 
ored  as  it  was  with  the  high  spice  of  scandal  concerning 
their  most  immediate  and  mutual  friends,  who  were,  after 
much  interesting  discussion,  one  by  one  condemned  as  of 
u  questionable  "  repute,  and  uncertain  position.  Then  Lady 
Winsleigh  summoned  her  maid,  and  was  arrayed  cap-d-pie 
in  "  carriage-toilette,"  while  Mrs.  Marvelle  amused  herself 
by  searching  the  columns  of  Truth  for  some  new  tit-bit  of 
immorality  connected  with  the  royalty  or  nobility  of  En.- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  251 

gland.  And  at  half-past  three  precisely,  the  two  ladies 
drove  off  together  in  an  elegant  victoria  drawn  by  a  dash- 
ing pair  of  greys,  with  a  respectably  apoplectic  coachman 
on  t'u3  box,  supported  by  the  stately  Briggs,  in  all  the  glory 
of  the  olive-green  and  gold  liveries  which  distinguished  the 
Winsleigh  equipage.  By  he"r  ladyship's  desire,  they  were 
driven  straight  to  Prince's  Gate. 

"  We  may  as  well  leave  our  cards  together,"  said  Clara, 
with  a  malicious  little  smile,  "  though  I  hope  to  goodness 
the  creature  won't  be  at  home." 

Bruce-Errington's  town-house  was  a  very  noble-looking 
mansion — refined  and  simple  in  outer  adornment,  with  a 
broad  entrance,  deep  portico,  and  lofty  windows — windows 
which  .fortunately  were  not  spoilt  by  gaudy  hangings  of 
silk  or  satin  in  "  aesthetic  "  colors.  The  blinds  were  white 
— and,  what  could  be  seen  'of  the  curtains  from  the  outside, 
suggested  the  richness  of  falling  velvets,  and  gold-woven 
tapestries.  The  drawing-room  balconies  were  full  of 
brilliant  flowers,  shaded  by  quaint  awnings  of  Oriental 
pattern,  thus  giving  the  place  an  air  of  pleasant  occupation 
and  tasteful  elegance. 

Lady  Winsleigh 's  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door,  and  Briggs 
descended. 

"  Inquire  if  Lady  Bruce-Errington  is  at  home,"  said  his 
mistress.  "  And  if  not,  leave  these  cards." 

Briggs  received  the  scented  glossy  bits  of  pasteboard  in 
his  yellow-gloved  hand,  with  due  gravity,  and  rang  the 
bell  marked  "  Visitors "  in  his  usual  ponderous  manner, 
with  a  force  that  sent  it  clanging  loudty  through  the  corri- 
dors of  the  stately  mansion.  The  door  was  instantly 
opened  by  a  respectable  man  with  grey  hair  and  a  gentle, 
kindly  face,  who  was  dressed  plainly  in  black,  and  who  eyed 
the  gorgeous  Briggs  with  the  faintest  suspicion  of  a  smile. 
He  was  Errington's  butler,  and  had  served  the  family  for 
twenty-five  years. 

"  Her  ladyship  is  driving  in  the  Park,"  he  said  in  response 
to  the  condescending  inquiries  of  Briggs.  "  She  left  the 
house  about  half  an  hour  ago." 

Briggs  thereupon  handed  in  the  cards,  and  forthwith  re- 
ported  the  result  of  his  interview  to  Lady  Winsleigh,  who 
said  with  some  excitement — 

"  Tarn  into  the  Park  and  drive  up  and  down  till  I  give 
further  orders." 

Briggs  mutely  touched  his  hat,  mounted  the  box,  and  the 


252  THELMA. 

carriage  rapidly  bowled  in  the  required  direction,  while 
Lady  Winsleigh  remarked  laughingly  to  Mrs.  Marvelle — 

"  Philip  is  sure  to  be  with  his  treasure !  If  we  can  catch 
a  glimpse  of  her,  sitting,  staring  open-mouthed  at  every- 
thing, it  will  be  amusing !  We  shall  then  know  what  to 
expect." 

Mrs.  Marvelle  said  nothing,  though  she  too  was  more  or 
less  curious  to  see  the  "  peasant  "  addition  to  the  circle  of 
fashionable  society, — and  when  they  entered  the  Park,  both 
she  and  Lady  Winsleigh  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  quiet  grey  and  silver  of  the  Bruce-Erring- 
ton  liveries.  They  watched,  however,  in  vain — it  was  not 
yet  the  hour  for  the  crowding  of  the  Row — and  there  was 
not  a  sign  of  the  particular  equipage  they  were  so  desirous 
to  meet.  Presently  Lady  Winsleigh's  face  flushed — she 
laughed,  and  bade  her  coachman  come  to  a  halt. 

"  It  is  only  Lennie,"  she  said  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Marvelle 's 
look  of  inquiry.  "  I  must  speak  to  him  a  moment  1  " 

And  she  beckoned  coquettishiy  to  a  slight,  slim  young 
man  with  a  dark  moustache  and  rather  handsome  features, 
who  was  idling  along  on  the  footpath,  apparently  absorbed 
in  a  reverie,  though  it  was  not  of  so  deep  a  character  that 
he  failed  to  be  aware  of  her  ladyship's  presence — in  fact  he 
had  seen  her  as  soon  as  she  appeared  in  the  Park.  He  saw 
everything  apparently  without  looking — he  had  lazily 
drooping  ej^es,  but  a  swift  under-glance  which  missed  no 
detail  of  whatever  was  going  on.  He  approached  now  with 
an  excessively  languid  air,  raising  his  hat  slowly,  as  though 
the  action  bored  him. 

"  How  do,  Mrs.  Marvelle !  r  he  drawled  lazily,  addressing 
himself  first  to  the  elder  lady,  who  responded  somewhat 
curtly, — then  leaning  his  arms  on  the  carriage  door,  he  fixed 
Lady  Winsleigh  with  a  sleepy  stare  of  admiration.  "  And 
how  is  our  Clara  ?  Looking  charming,  as  usual  1  By 
Jove !  Why  weren't  3-ou  here  ten  minutes  ago  ?  You 
never  saw  such  a  sight  in  3rour  life !  Thought  the  whole 
Row  was  going  crazy,  'pon  my  soul !  " 

"  Why,  what  happened?"  asked  Lady  Winsleigh,  smil- 
ing graciously  upon  him.  "  Anj-thing  extraordinary  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  3rou'd  call  extraordinary  ;  " 
and  Sir  Francis  Lennox  yawned  and  examined  the  handle 
of  his  cane  attentively.  "  I  suppose  if  Helen  of  Troy  came 
driving  full  pelt  down  the  Row  all  of  a  sudden,  there'd  be 
some  slight  sensation  1  " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  253 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Clara  Winsleigh  pettishly.  "  You 
talk  in  enigmas  to-day.  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Sir  Francis  condescended  to  smile.  "  Don't  be  waxy, 
Clara !  "  he  urged — "  I  mean  what  I  say — a  new  Helen  ap- 
peared here  to-day,  and  instead  of  '  tall  Troy  '  being  on 
fire,  as  Dante  Rossetti  puts  it,  the  Row  was  in  a  burning 
condition  of  excitement — fellows  on  horseback  galloped  the 
whole  length  of  the  Park  to  take  a  last  glimpse  of  her — 
her  carriage  dashed  off  to  Richmond  after  taking  only  four 
turns.  She  is  simply  magnificent !  " 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  and  in  spite  of  herself,  Lady  Winsleigh's 
smile  vanished  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"  Lady  Bruce-Errington,''  answered  Sir  Francis  readily. 
'•  The  loveliest  woman  in  the  world,  I  should  say !  Phil 
was  beside  her — he  looks  in  splendid  condition — and  that 
meek  old  secretary  fellow  sat  opposite — Neville — isn't  that 
his  name  ?  Anyhow  they  seemed  as  jolly  as  pipers, — as  for 
that  woman,  she'll  drive  everybody  out  of  their  wits  about 
her  before  half  the  season's  over." 

"  But  she's  a  mere  peasant !  "  said  Mrs.  Marvelle  loftily. 
"  Entirely  uneducated — a  low,  common  creature !  " 

"  Ah,  indeed !  "  and  Sir  Francis  again  yawned  exten- 
sively. "  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  about  that !  She 
was  exquisitely  dressed,  and  she  held  herself  like  a  queen. 
As  for  her  hair — I  never  saw  such  wonderful  hair, — there's 
every  shade  of  gold  in  it." 

"  Dyed  !  "  said  Lady  Winsleigh,  with  a  sarcastic  little 
laugh.  "  She's  been  in  Paris, — I  dare  say  a  good  coiffeur 
has  done  it  for  her  there  artistically  !  " 

This  time  Sir  Francis's  smile  was  a  thoroughly  amused 
one. 

"  Commend  me  to  a  woman  for  spite  !  "  he  said  carelessly. 
"  But  I'll  not  presume  to  contradict  you,  Clara!  You  know 
best,  I  dare  say  !  Ta-ta  !  I'll  come  for  you  to-night, — you 
know  we're  bound  for  the  theatre  together.  By-bye,  Mrs. 
Marvelle  !  You  look  younger  than  ever !  " 

And  Sir  Francis  Lennox  sauntered  easily  away,  leaving 
the  ladies  to  resume  their  journey  through  the  Park.  Lady 
Winsleigh  looked  vexed — Mrs.  Marvelle  bewildered. 

"  Do  you  think,"  inquired  this  latter,  "  she  can  really  be 
so  wonderfully  lovely  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't !  "  answered  Clara  snappishly,  "  I  dare 
say  she's  a  plump  creature  with  a  high  color — men  like  fat 
women  with  brick-tinted  complexions — they  think  it's 


254  THELMA. 

healthy.  Helen  of  Troy  indeed  !  Pooh !  Lennie  must  be 
crazy." 

The  rest  of  their  drive  was  very  silent, — they  were  both 
absorbed  in  their  own  reflections.  On  arriving  at  the  Van 
Clupps',  they  found  no  one  at  home — not  even  Marcia — so 
Lady  Winsleigh  drove  her  "  dearest  Mimse}-  "  back  to  her 
own  house  in  Kensington,  and  there  left  her  with  many  ex- 
pressions of  tender  endearment — then,  returning  home, 
proceeded  to  make  an  elaborate  and  brilliant  toilette  for  the 
enchantment  and  edification  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox  that 
evening.  She  dined  alone,  and  was  ready  for  her  admirer 
when  he  called  for  her  in  his  private  hansom,  and  drove 
away  with  him  to  the  theatre,  where  she  was  the  cynosure 
of  many  eyes  ;  meanwhile  her  husband,  Lord  Winsleigh, 
was  pressing  a  good-night  kiss  on  the  heated  forehead  of  an 
excited  boy,  who,  plunging  about  in  his  little  bed  and 
laughing  heartily,  was  evidently  desirous  of  emulating  the 
gambols  of  the  clown  who  had  delighted  him  that  afternoon 
at  Hengler's. 

"  Papa  !  could  you  stand  on  your  head  and  shake  hands 
with  your  foot  ?  "  demanded  this  young  rogue,  confronting 
his  father  with  towzled  curls  and  flushed  cheeks. 

Lord  Winsleigh  laughed.  "  Realty,  Ernest,  I  don't  think 
I  could !  "  he  answered  good-naturedly.  "  Haven't  you 
talked  enough  about  the  circus  by  this  time  ?  I  thought 
you  were  ready  for  sleep,  otherwise  I  should  not  have  come 
up  to  say  good-night." 

Ernest  studied  the  patient,  kind  features  of  his  father 
for  a  moment,  and  then  slipped  penitently  under  the  bed- 
clothes, settling  his  restless  young  head  determinedly  on 
the  pillow. 

"  I'm  all  right  now  ! "  he  murmured,  with  a  demure, 
dimpling  smile.  Then,  with  a  tender  upward  twinkle  of 
his  merry  blue  eyes,  he  added,  "  Good-night,  papa  dear  1 
God  bless  you !  " 

A  sort  of  wistful  pathos  softened  the  grave  lines  of  Lord 
Winsleigh's  countenance  as  he  bent  once  more  over  the  lit- 
tle bed,  and  pressed  his  beardtd  lips  lightly  on  the  boy's 
fresh  cheek,  as  cool  and  soft  as  a  rose-leaf. 

"  God  bless  you,  little  man ! "  he  answered  softly,  and 
there  was  a  slight  quiver  in  his  calm  voice.  Then  he  put 
out  the  light  and  left  the  room,  closing  the  door  after  him 
with  careful  noiselessness.  Descending  the  broad  stairs 
elowly,  his  face  changed  from  its  late  look  of  tenderness  to 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  2o5 

one  of  stern  and  patient  coldness,  which  was  evident!}'  its 
habitual  expression.  He  addressed  himself  to  Briggs,  who 
was  lounging  aimlessly  in  the  hall. 

"  Her  ladyship  is  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord!  Gone  to  the  theayter  with  Sir  Francis 
Lennox." 

Lord  Winsleigh  turned  upon  him  sharply.  "  I  did  not 
ask  you,  Briggs,  where  she  had  gone,  or  who  accompanied 
her.  Have  the  goodness  to  answer  my  questions  simply, 
without  adding  useless  and  unnecessary  details." 

Briggs's  mouth  opened  a  little  in  amazement  at  his  mas- 
ter's peremptory  tone,  but  he  answered  promptly — 

"  Very  good,  my  lord  !  " 

Lord  Winsleigh  paused  a  moment,  and  seemed  to  con 
sider.  Then  he  said — 

"  See  that  her  ladyship's  supper  is  prepared  in  the  dining- 
room.  She  will  most  probably  return  rather  late.  Should 
she  inquire  for  me,  say  I  am  at  the  Carlton." 

Again  Briggs  responded,  "  Very  good,  my  lord  !  "  And, 
like  an  exemplary  servant  as  he  was,  he  lingered  about  the 
passage  while  Lord  Winsleigh  entered  his  library,  and,  after 
remaining  there  some  ten  minutes  or  so,  came  out  again  in 
hat  and  great  coat.  The  officious  Briggs  handed  him  his 
cane,  and  inquired — 

"  'Ansom,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  no.     I  will  walk." 

It  was  a  fine  moonlight  night,  and  Briggs  stood  for  some 
minutes  on  the  steps,  airing  his  shapely  calves  and  watch- 
ing the  tall,  dignified  figure  of  his  master  walking,  with  the 
upright,  stately  bearing  which  always  distinguished  him,  in 
the  direction  of  Pall  Mall.  Park  Lane  was  full  of  crowd- 
ing carriages  with  twinkling  lights,  all  bound  to  the  differ- 
ent sources  of  so-called  "  pleasure  "  by  which  the  opening 
of  the  season  is  distinguished.  Briggs  surveyed  the  scene 
with  lofty  indifference,  sniffed  the  cool  breeze,  and,  finding 
it  somewhat  chilly,  re-entered  the  house  and  descended  to 
the  servant's  hall.  Here  all  the  domestics  of  the  Winsleigh 
household  were  seated  at  a  large  table  loaded  witb  ^ot  and 
savor}7  viands, — a  table  presided  over  by  a  robust  anu  per- 
spiring lady,  with  a  very  red  face  and  sturdy  arms  bare  to 
the  elbow. 

u  Lor',  Mr.  Briggs!  "  cried  this  personage,  rising  respect- 
fully as  he  approached,  "  'ow  late  you  are !  Wot  'ave  you 
been  a-doin'  on  ?  'Ere  I've  been  a-keepin'  your  lamb-chops 


256  THELMA. 

and  truffles  'ot  all  this  time,  and  if  they's  dried  up  'taint  ray 
fault,  nor  that  of  the  hoven,  which  is  as  good  a  hoven  as 
you  can  wish  to  bake  in.  .  .  ." 

She  paused  breathless,  and  Briggs  smiled  blandly. 

"  Now,  Flopsie !  "  he  said  in  a  tone  of  gentle  severity. 
"  Excited  again — as  usual !  It's  bad  for  your  'elth — very 
bad  !  Hif  the  chops  is  dried,  your  course  is  plain — cook 
some  more!  Not  that  I  am  enny  ways  particular — but 
chippy  meat  is  bad  for  a  delicate  digestion.  And  you  would 
not  make  me  hill,  my  Flopsie,  would  3-011  ?  " 

Whereupon  he  seated  himself,  and  looked  condescend- 
ing^ round  the  table.  He  was  too  great  a  personage  to  be 
familiar  with  such  inferior  creatures  as  housemaids,  scullery- 
girls,  and  menials  of  that  class, — he  was  only  on  intimate 
terms  with  the  cook,  Mrs.  Flopper,  or,  as  he  called  her, 
"  Flopsie," — the  coachman,  and  Lady  Winsleigh's  own 
maid,  Louise  Renaud,  a  prim,  sallow-faced  Frenchwoman, 
who,  by  reason  of  her  nationality,  was  called  by  all  the  in- 
habitants of  the  kitchen,  "  mamzelle,"  as  being  a  name  both 
short,  appropriate,  and  convenient. 

On  careful  examination,  the  lamb-chops  turned  out  satis- 
factorily— u  chippiness"  was  an  epithet  that  could  not 
justly  be  applied  to  them, — and  Mr.  Briggs  began  to  eat 
them  Ieisurel3r,  flavoring  them  with  a  glass  or  two  of  fine 
port  out  of  a  decanter  which  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
bring  down  from  the  dining-room  sideboard. 

"  I  ham  late,"  he  then  graciously  explained — "  not  that  I 
was  detained  ineriny  way  by  the  people  upstairs.  The  gay 
Clara  went  out  early,  but  I  was  absorbed  in  the  evenin' 
papers — Winsleigh  forgot  to  ask  me  for  them.  But  he'll 
see  them  at  his  club.  He's  gone  there  now  on  foot — poor 
fellah ! " 

"  I  suppose  she's  with  the  same  party  ?  "  grinned  the  fat 
Flopsie,  as  she  held  a  large  piece  of  bacon  dipped  in  vinegar 
on  her  fork,  preparatoiy  to  swallowing  it  with  a  gulp. 

Briggs  nodded  gravely.  "  The  same !  Not  a  fine  man 
at  all,  you  know — no  leg  to  speak  of,  and  therefore  no 
form.  Legs — good  legs — are  beauty.  Now,  Winsleigh's 
not  bad  in  that  particular, — and  I  dare  say  Clara  can  hold 
her  own, — but  I  wouldn't  bet  on  little  Francis." 

Flopsie  shrieked  with  laughter  till  she  had  a  "  stitch  in 
her  side,"  and  was  compelled  to  restrain  her  mirth. 

"  Lor',  Mr.  Briggs  !  "  she  gasped,  wiping  the  moisture 
from  her  e3res,  "  you  are  a  regular  one,  aren't  you !  Mussy 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  257 

on  us,  you  ought  to  put  all  wot  you  say  in  the  papers — 
you'd  make  your  fortin!  " 

"Maybe,  maybe,  Flospie/'  returned  Briggs  with  due 
dignity.  "I  will  not  deny  that  there  may  be  wot  is  called 
'  sparkle '  in  my  natur.  And  '  sparkle '  is  wot  is  rekwired 
in  polite  literatoor.  Look  at  'Hedmund'  and  ''Enery!' 
Sparkle  again, — read  their  magnificent  productions,  the 
World  and  Truth, — all  sparkle,  every  line !  It  is  the  secret 
of  success,  Flospie — be  a  sparkler  and  you've  got  every- 
thing before  you." 

Louise  Renaud  looked  across  at  him  half -defiantly.  Her 
prim,  cruel  mouth  hardened  into  a  tight  line. 

"  To  spark-el?"  she  said — "  that  is  what  we  call  elinceler 
— eclaier.  Yes,  I  comprehend!  Miladi  is  one  spark-el! 
But  one  must  be  a  very  good  jewel  to  spark-el  always — yes 
- — yes — not  a  sham ! " 

And  she  nodded  a  great  many  times,  and  ate  her  salad 
very  fast.  Briggs  surveyed  her  with  much  complacency. 

"You  are  a  talented  woman,  Mamzelle,"  he  said,  "very 
talented !  I  admire  your  ways — I  really  do !  " 

Mamzelle  smiled  with  a  gratified  air,  and  Briggs  settled 
his  wig,  eyeing  her  anew  with  fresh  interest, 

"  Wot  a  witness  you  would  be  in  a  divorce  case  ! "  he  con- 
tinued enthusiastically.  "You'd  be  in  your  helement ! " 

"  I  should — I  should  indeed ! "  exclaimed  Mamzelle,  with 
sudden  excitement, — then  as  suddenly  growing  calm,  she 
made  a  rapid  gesture  with  her  hands — "  But  there  will  be 
no  divorce.  Milord  Winsleigh  is  a  fool ! " 

Briggs  appeared  doubtful  about  this,  and  meditated  for 
a  long  time  over  his  third  glass  of  port  with  the  profound 
gravity  of  a  philosopher. 

' '  No,  Mamzelle,"  he  said  at  last,  when  he  rose  from  the 
table  to  return  to  his  duties  upstairs — "No !  there  I  must 
differ  from  you.  I  am  a  close  observer.  Wotever  Winsleigh's 
faults, — and  I  do  not  deny  that  they  are  many, — he  is  a 
gentleman — that  I  must  admit — and  with  heuery  respect 
for  you,  Mamzelle — I  can  assure  you  he's  no  fool ! " 

And  with  these  words  Briggs  betook  himself  to  the 
library  to  arrange  the  reading-lamp  and  put  the  room  in 
order  for  his  master's  return,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  paused  to 
look  at  a  fine  photograph  of  Lady  Winsleigh  that  stood  on 
the  oak  escritoire,  opposite  her  husband's  arm-chair. 

"  No, "  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  Wotever  he  thinks  of 
some  goings-on,  he  ain't  bliad  sor  deaf-— that's  ceriais. 


258  THELMA. 

And  I'd  stake  my  character  and  purfessional  reputation  on 
it — wotever  he  is,  he's  no  fool  1 " 

For  once  in  hu  life,  Briggs  was  right.  He  was  generally 
wrong  in  his  estimat  f  both  persons  and  things — but  it  so 
happened  on  this  particular  occasion  that  he  had  formed  a 
perfectly  correct  judgment. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Could  you  not  drink  her  gaze  like  wine? 

Yet  in  its  splendor  swoon 
Into  the  silence  languidly, 
As  a  tune  into  a  tune?  " 

DANTE  ROSSETTI. 

ON  tb.3  morning  of  the  twenty-fifth  of  May,  Thelma,  Lady 
Bruce-Errington,  sat  at  breakfast  with  her  husband  in  their 
sun-shiny  morning-room,  fragrant  with  flowers  and  melodi- 
ous with  the  low  piping  of  a  tame  thrush  in  a  wild  gilded 
cage,  who  had  the  sweet  habit  of  warbling  his  strophes  to 
himself  very  softly  now  and  then,  before  venturing  to  give 
them  full-voiced  utterance.  A  bright-eyed,  feathered  poet 
he  was,  and  an  exceeding  favorite  with  his  fair  mistress, 
who  occasionally  leaned  back  in  her  low  chair  to  look  at 
him  and  murmur  an  encouraging  "  Sweet,  sweet!  "  which 
caused  the  speckled  plumage  on  his  plump  breast  to  ruffle 
up  with  suppressed  emotion  and  gratitude. 

Philip  was  pretending  to  read  the  Times,  but  the  huge, 
self-important  printed  sheet  had  not  the  faintest  interest 
for  him, — his  eyes  wandered  over  the  top  of  its  columns  to 
the  golden  gleam  of  his  wife's  hair,  brightened  just  then 
by  the  sunlight  streaming  through  the  window, — and  fi- 
nally he  threw  it  down  beside  him  with  a  laugh. 

"  There's  no  news,"  he  declared.  u  There  never  is  any 
news !  " 

Thelma  smiled,  and  her  deep-blue  eyes  sparkled. 

"  No  ?  "  she  half  inquired — then  taking  her  husband's 
cup  from  his  hand  to  re-fill  it  with  coffee,  she  added,  "  but  I 
think  you  do  not  give  yourself  time  to  find  the  news, 
Philip.  You  will  never  read  the  papers  more  than  five- 
minutes." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Philip  gaily,  "  I  am  more  conscien- 
tious thaa  you  are.  a.t  any  rate,  for  you  never  read  them  H 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  259 

"  Ah,  but  you  must  remember,"  she  returned  gravely, 
"  that  is  because  I  do  not  understand  them !  I  am  not 
clever.  The}^  seem  to  me  to  be  all  about  such  dull  things 
— unless  there  is  some  horrible  murder  or  ruel*y  or  acci- 
dent— and  I  would  rather  not  hear  of  these.  I  do  prefer 
books  alwa3's — because  the  books  last,  and  news  is  never 
certain — it  may  not  even  be  true." 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  fondly ;  his  thoughts  were  ev- 
identl}'  very  far  away  from  newspapers  and  their  contents. 

As  she  met  his  gaze,  the  rich  color  flushed  her  soft  cheeks 
and  her  eyes  drooped  shyly  under  their  long  lashes.  Love, 
with  her,  had  not  }'et  proved  an  illusion, — a  bright  toy  to 
be  snatched  hastily  and  played  with  for  a  brief  while,  and 
then  thrown  aside  as  broken  and  worthless.  It  seemed  to 
her  a  most  marvellous  and  splendid  gift  of  God,  increasing 
each  day  in  worth  and  beauty, — widening  upon  her  soul 
and  dazzling  her  life  in  ever  new  and  expanding  circles  of 
glory.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  never  sufficiently  under- 
stand it, — the  passionate  adoration  Philip  lavished  upon 
her,  filled  her  with  a  sort  of  innocent  wonder  and  gratitude, 
while  her  own  overpowering  love  and  worship  of  him,  some- 
times startled  her  by  its  force  into  a  sweet  shame  and  hesi- 
tating fear.  To  her  mind  he  was  all  that  was  great,  strong, 
noble,  and  beautiful — he  was  her  master,  her  king, — and 
she  loved  to  pay  him  homage  by  her  exquisite  humility, 
clinging  tenderness,  and  complete,  contented  submission. 
She  was  neither  weak  nor  timid, — her  character,  moulded 
on  grand  and  simple  lines  of  duty,  saw  the  laws  of  Nature 
in  their  true  light,  and  accepted  them  without  question. 
It  seemed  to  her  quite  clear  that  man  was  the  superior, — 
woman  the  inferior,  creature — and  she  could  not  under- 
stand the  possibility  of  any  wife  not  rendering  instant  and 
implicit  obedience  to  her  husband,  even  in  trifles. 

Since  her  wedding-day  no  dark  cloud  had  crossed  her 
heaven  of  happiness,  though  she  had  been  a  little  confused 
and  bewildered  at  first  by  the  wealth  and  dainty  luxury 
with  which  Sir  Philip  had  delighted  to  surround  her.  She 
had  been  married  quietly  at  Christiania,  arrayed  in  one  of 
her  own  simple  white  gowns,  with  no  ornament  save  a  clus- 
ter of  pale  blush-roses,  the  gift  of  Lorimer.  The  ceremony 
was  witnessed  by  her  father  and  Errington's  friends, — and 
when  it  was  concluded  they  had  all  gone  on  their  several 
ways, — old  Giildmar  for  a  "  toss  "  on  the  Bay  of  Biscay, — 
the  yacht;  £|fteftp,  with  Loriiner, 


260  THELMA. 

on  board,  back  to  England,  where  these  gentlemen  had  sep- 
arated to  their  respective  homes, — while  Errington,  with 
his  beautiful  bride,  and  Britta  in  demure  and  delighted  at- 
tendance on  her,  went  straight  to  Copenhagen.  From 
there  they  travelled  to  Hamburg,  and  through  Germany  to 
the  Schwa  rzwald,  where  they  spent  their  honeymoon  at  a 
quiet  little  hotel  in  the  very  heart  of  the  deep-green  Forest. 

Days  of  delicious  dreaming  were  these, — days  of  roaming 
on  the  emerald  green  turf  under  the  stately  and  odorous 
pines,  listening  to  the  dash  of  the  waterfalls,  or  watching 
the  crimson  sunset  burning  redly  through  the  darkness  of 
the  branches, — and  in  the  moonlit  evenings  sitting  under 
the  trees  to  hear  the  entrancing  music  of  a  Hungarian 
string-band,  which  played  divine  and  voluptuous  melodies 
of  the  land, — "  lieder  "  and  "  walzer  ''  that  swung  the  heart 
away  on  a  golden  thread  of  sound  to  a  paradise  too  sweet 
to  name!  Days  of  high  ecstacy,  and  painfully  passionate 
joy ! — when  "  love,  love  !  "  palpitated  in  the  air,  and 
struggled  for  utterance  in  the  jubilant  throats  of  birds,  and 
whispered  wild  suggestions  in  the  rustling  of  the  leaves ! 
There  were  times  when  Thelma, — lost  and  amazed  and 
overcome  by  the  strength  and  sweetness  of  the  nectar  held 
to  her  innocent  lips  by  a  smiling  and  flame-winged  Eros, — 
would  wonder  vaguely  whether  she  lived  indeed,  or  whether 
she  were  not  dreaming  some  gorgeous  dream,  too  brilliant 
to  last?  And  even  when  her  husband's  arms  most  surely 
embraced  her,  and  her  husband's  kiss  met  hers  in  all  the 
rapture  of  victorious  tenderness,  she  would  often  question 
herself  as  to  whether  she  were  worthy  of  such  perfect  hap- 
piness, and  she  would  pray  in  the  depths  of  her  pure  heart 
to  be  made  more  deserving  of  this  great  and  wonderful  gift 
of  love — this  supreme  joy,  almost  too  vast  for  her  compre- 
hension. 

On  the  other  hand,  Errington's  passion  for  his  wife  was 
equally  absorbing — she  had  become  the  very  moving-spring 
of  his  existence.  His  eyes  delighted  in  her  beauty, — but 
more  than  this,  he  revelled  in  and  reverenced  the  crystal- 
clear  purity  and  exquisite  refinement  of  her  soul.  Life  as- 
sumed for  him  a  new  form, — studied  by  the  light  of 
Thelma's  straightforward  simplicity  and  intelligence,  it 
was  no  longer,  as  he  had  once  been  inclined  to  think,  a 
mere  empty  routine, — it  was  a  treasure  of  inestimable 
value  fraught  with  divine  meanings.  Gradually,  the  touch 
:of  modern  cynicism  that  had  at  one  time  threatened  to 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  261 

spoil  his  nature,  dropped  away  from  him  like  the  husk 
from  an  ear  of  corn, — the  world  arrayed  itself  in  bright 
and  varjniig  colors — there  was  good — nay,  there  was  glory 
— in  everything. 

With  these  ideas,  and  the  healthy  satisfaction  they  en- 
gendered, his  heart  grew  light  and  joyous, — his  eyes  more 
lustrous, — his  step  gay  and  elastic, — and  his  whole  appear- 
ance was  that  of  man  at  his  best, — man,  as  God  most 
surely  meant  him  to  be — not  a  rebellious,  feebly-repining, 
sneering  wretch,  ready  to  scoff  at  the  very  sunlight, — but 
a  being  both  brave  and  intelligent,  strong  and  equably  bal- 
anced in  temperament,  and  not  only  contented,  but  abso- 
lutely glad  to  be  alive, — glad  to  feel  the  blood  flowing 
through  the  veins, — glad  and  grateful  for  the  gifts  of 
breathing  and  sight. 

As  each  day  passed,  the  more  close  and  perfect  grew  the 
sympathies  of  husband  and  wife, — they  were  like  two  notes 
of  a  perfect  chord,  sounding  together  in  sweetest  harmony. 
Naturally,  much  of  this  easy  and  mutual  blending  of  char- 
acter and  disposition  arose  from  Thelma's  own  gracious 
and  graceful  submissiveness, — submissiveness  which,  far 
from  humiliating  her,  actually  placed  her  (though  she 
knew  it  not)  on  a  throne  of  almost  royal  power,  before 
which  Sir  Philip  was  content  to  kneel — an  ardent  worship- 
per of  her  womanly  sweetness.  Alwaj-s  without  question 
or  demur,  she  obeyed  his  wishes  implicitly, — though,  as 
has  been  before  mentioned,  she  was  at  first  a  little  over- 
powered and  startled  by  the  evidences  of  his  wealth,  and 
did  not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  all  the  luxuries  and 
gifts  he  heaped  upon  her.  Britta's  worldly  prognostica- 
tions had  come  true, — the  simple  gowns  her  mistress  had 
worn  at  the  Altenf  jord  were  soon  discarded  for  more  costly 
apparel, — though  Sir  Philip  had  an  affection  for  his  wife's 
Norwegian  costumes,  and  in  his  heart  thought  they  were 
as  pretty,  if  not  prettier,  than  the  most  perfect  triumphs 
of  a  Parisian  modiste. 

But  in  the  social  world,  Fashion,  the  capricious  deity, 
must  be  followed,  if  not  wholly,  yet  in  part ;  and  so 
Thelma's  straight,  plain  garments  were  laid  carefully  by  as 
souvenirs  of  the  old  days,  and  were  replaced  by  toilettes  of 
the  most  exquisite  description, — some  simple, — some  costly, 
— and  it  was  difficult  to  say  in  which  of  them  the  lovely 
wearer  looked  her  best.  She  herself  was  indifferent  in  the 
matter — she  dressed  to  please  Philip, — if  he  was  satisfied, 


262  THELMA. 

she  was  happy — she  sought  nothing  further.  It  was  Britta 
whose  merry  eyes  sparkled  with  pride  and  admiration 
when  she  saw  her  "  Frb'ken"  arrayed  in  gleaming  silk  or 
sweeping  velvets,  with  the  shine  of  rare  jewels  in  her  rip- 
pling hair, — it  was  Britta  who  took  care  of  all  the  dainty 
trifles  that  gradually  accumulated  on  Thelma's  dressing- 
table, — in  fact,  Britta  had  become  a  very  important  person- 
age in  her  own  opinion.  Dressed  neatly  in  black,  with  a 
coquettish  muslin  apron  and  cap  becomingly  frilled,  she 
was  a  very  taking  little  maid,  with  her  demure  rosy  face 
and  rebellious  curls,  though  very  different  to  the  usual 
trained  spy  whose  officious  ministrations  are  deemed  so 
necessary  by  ladies  of  position,  whose  lofty  station  in  life 
precludes  them  from  the  luxury  of  brushing  their  own 
hair.  Britta's  duties  were  slight — she  invented  most  of 
them — yet  she  was  always  busy  sewing,  dusting,  packing, 
or  polishing.  She  was  a  very  wide-awake  little  person,  too, 
— no  hint  was  lost  upon  her, — and  she  held  her  own  wher- 
ever she  went  with  her  bright  eyes  and  sharp  tongue. 
Though  secretly  in  an  unbounded  state  of  astonishment  at 
everything  new  she  saw,  she  was  too  wise  to  allow  this  to 
be  noticed,  and  feigned  the  utmost  coolness  and  indiffer- 
ence, even  when  they  went  from  Germany  to  Paris,  where 
the  brilliancy  and  luxury  of  the  shops  almost  took  away 
her  breath  for  sheer  wonderment. 

In  Paris,  Thelma's  wardrobe  was  completed — a  certain 
Madame  Rosine,  famous  for  "  artistic  arrangements,"  was 
called  into  requisition,  and  viewing  with  a  professional  eye 
the  superb  figure  and  majestic  carriage  of  her  new  cus- 
tomer, rose  to  the  occasion  in  all  her  glory,  and  resolved 
that  Miladi  Bruce-Errington's  dresses  should  be  the  wonder 
and  envy  of  all  who  beheld  them. 

"  For,"  said  Madame,  with  a  grand  air,  "  it  is  to  do  me 
justice.  That  form  so  magnificent  is  worth  draping, — it 
will  support  my  work  to  the  best  advantage.  And  persons 
without  figures  will  hasten  to  me  and  entreat  me  for  cos- 
tumes, and  will  think  that  if  I  dress  them  1  can  make  them 
look  as  well  as  Miladi.  And  they  will  pay  !  " — Madame 
shook  her  head  with  much  shrewdness — "  Mon  Dieu  !  they 
will  pay  ! — and  that  they  still  look  frightful  will  not  be  my 
fault." 

And  undoubtedly  Madame  surpassed  her  usual  skill  in  all 
she  did  for  Thelma, — she  took  such  pains,  and  was  so  suc- 
cessful in  all  her  designs,  that  "  Miladi,"  who  did  not  as  a 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  -263 

rule  show  more  than  a  very  ordinary  interest  in  her  toilette, 
found  it  impossible  not  to  admire  the  artistic  taste,  har- 
monious coloring,  and  exquisite  fit  of  the  few  choice  gowns 
supplied  to  her  from  the  "  Maison  Rosine  " — and  only  on 
one  occasion  had  she  any  discussion  with  the  celebrated 
modiste.  This  was  when  Madame  herself,  with  much 
pride,  brought  home  an  evening  dress  of  the  very  palest 
and  tenderest  sea-green  silk,  showered  with  pearls  and  em- 
broidered in  silver,  a  perfect  chef-d"1  ceuvre  of  the  dress- 
maker's art.  The  skirt,  with  its  billowy  train  and  peeping 
folds  of  delicate  lace,  pleased  Thelma, — but  she  could  not 
understand  the  bodice,  and  she  held  that  very  small  portion 
of  the  costume  in  her  hand  with  an  air  of  doubt  and  won- 
derment. At  last  she  turned  her  grave  blue  eyes  inquir- 
ingly on  Madame. 

"  It  is  not  finished  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Where  is  the  upper 
part  of  it  and  the  sleeves  ?  " 

Madame    Rosine  gesticulated  with  her  hands  and  smiled. 

"  Miladi,  there  is  no  more  !  "  she  declared.  "  Miladi  will 
perceive  it  is  for  the  evening  wear — it  is  decolletee — it  is  to 
show  to  everybody  Miladi's  most  beautiful  white  neck  and 
arms.  The  effect  will  be  ravishing  !  " 

Thelma's  face  grew  suddenly  grave — almost  stern. 

"  You  must  be  very  wicked  !  "  she  said  severely,  to  the  in- 
finite amazement  of  the  vivacious  Rosine.  "  You  think  I 
would  show  myself  to  people  half  clothed  ?  How  is  it 
possible!  I  would  not  so  disgrace  myself!  It  would 
bring  shame  to  ray  husband  !  " 

Madame  was  almost  speechless  with  surprise.  What 
strange  lady  was  this  who  was  so  dazzlingly  beautiful  and 
graceful,  and  }^et  so  ignorant  of  the  world's  ways  ?  She 
stared, — but  was  soon  on  the  defensive. 

"  Miladi  is  in  a  little  error  !  "  she  said  rapidly  and  with 
soft  persuasiveness.  "  It  is  la  mode.  Miladi  has  perhaps 
lived  in  a  country  where  the  fashions  are  different.  But  if 
she  will  ask  the  most  amiable  Sieur  Bruce-Errington,  she 
will  find  that  her  dress  is  quite  in  keeping  with  les  conven- 
ances." 

A  pained  blush  crimsoned  Thelma's  fair  cheek.  "  I  do 
not  like  to  ask  my  husband  such  a  thing,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  but  I  must.  For  I  could  not  "wear  this  dress  without 
shame.  I  cannot  think  he  would  wish  me  to  appear  in  it  as 
you  have  made  it — but —  She  paused,  and  taking  up 
the  objectionable  bodice,  she  added  gently — "  You  will 


264  THELMA. 

kindly  wait  here,  madame,  and  I  will  see  what  Sir  Philip 
says." 

And  she  retired,  leaving  the  modiste  in  a  state  of  much 
astonishment,  approaching  resentment.  The  idea  was  out- 
rageous,— a  woman  with  such  divinely  fair  skin, — a  woman 
with  the  bosom  of  a  Venus,  and  arms  of  a  shape  to  make 
sculptors  rave, — and  yet  she  actually  wished  to  hide  these 
beauties  from  the  public  gaze  !  It  was  ridiculous — utterly 
ridiculous, — and  Madame  sat  fuming  impatiently,  and  snif- 
fing the  air  in  wonder  and  scorn.  Meanwhile  Thelma,  with 
flushing  cheeks  and  lowered  eyes,  confided  her  difficulty  to 
Philip,  who  survej'ed  the  shocking  little  bodice  she  brought 
for  his  inspection  with  a  gravely  amused,  but  very  tender, 
smile. 

"  There  certainly  doesn't  seem  much  of  it,  does  there, 
darling  ?  "  he  said.  "  And  so  you  don't  like  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  confessed  frankly — "  I  think  I  should  feel 
quite  undressed  in  it.  I  often  wear  just  a  little  opening  at 

the  throat — but  this !  Still,  Philip,  I  must  not  displease 

you — and  I  will  alwa}rs  wear  what  you  wish,  even  if  it  is 
uncomfortable  to  myself," 

';  Look  here,  my  pet,"  and  he  encircled  her  waist  fondly 
with  his  arm,  "  Rosine  is  quite  right.  The  thing's  per- 
fectly fashionable, — and  there  isn't  a  woman  in  society  who 
wouldn't  be  perfectly  charmed  with  it.  But  your  ideas  are 
better  than  Rosine's  and  all  society's  put  together.  Obey 
your  own  womanly  instinct,  Thelma  ! " 

<l  But  what  do  you  wish  ?  "  she  asked  earnestly.  "  You 
must  tell  me.  It  is  to  please  you  that  I  live." 

He  kissed  her.  "  You  want  me  to  issue  a  command 
about  the  affair  ?  "  he  said  half  laughingly. 

She  smiled  up  into  his  eyes.     "  Yes  ! — and  I  will  obey  !  " 

"  Very  well  I  Now  listen  !  "  and  he  held  her  b}T  both 
hands,  and  looked  with  sudden  gravity  into  her  sweet  face 
— "  Thelma,  my  wife,  thus  sayeth  your  lord  and  master, — 
despise  the  vulgar  indecencies  of  fashion,  and  you  will  grat- 
ify me  more  than  words  can  say  ; — keep  your  pure  and 
beautiful  self  sacred  from  the  profaning  gaze  of  the  multi- 
tude,— sacred  to  me  and  my  love  for  you,  and  I  shall  be  the 
proudest  man  living !  Finally," — and  he  smiled  again — 
"  give  Rosine  back  this  effort  at  a  bodice,  and  tell  her  to 
make  something  more  in  keeping  with  the  laws  of  health 
and  modesty.  And  Thelma — one  more  kiss !  You  are  a 
darling  I  " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  265 

She  laughed  softly  and  left  him,  returning  at  once  to  the 
irate  dressmaker  who  waited  for  her. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  very  sweetly,  "  to  have  called  you 
wicked !  You  see,  I  did  not  understand !  But  though  this 
style  of  dress  is  fashionable,  I  do  not  wish  to  wear  it — so 
you  will  please  make  me  another  bodice,  with  a  small  open 
square  at  the  throat,  and  elbow-sleeves, — and  you  will  lose 
nothing  at  all — for  I  shall  pay  you  for  this  one  just  the 
same.  And  you  must  quite  pardon  me  for  my  mistake  and 
hasty  words !  " 

Maladi's  manner  was  so  gracious  and  winning,  that 
Madame  Rosine  found  it  impossible  not  to  smile  in  a 
soothed  and  mollified  way, — and  though  she  deeply  regret- 
ted that  so  beautiful  a  neck  and  arms  were  not  to  be  ex- 
posed to  public  criticism,  she  resigned  herself  to  the  inevi- 
table, and  took  away  the  offending  bodice,  replacing  it  in  a 
couple  of  days  by  one  much  prettier  and  more  becoming  by 
reason  of  its  perfect  modesty. 

On  leaving  Paris,  Sir  Philip  had  taken  his  wife  straight 
home  to  his  tine  old  Manor  in  Warwickshire.  Thelma's  de- 
light in  her  new  abode  was  unbounded — the  stately  oaks 
that  surrounded  it, — the  rose-gardens,  the  conservatories, — 
the  grand  rooms,  with  their  fine  tapestries,  oak  furniture, 
and  rare  pictures, — the  splendid  library,  the  long,  lofty 
drawing-rooms,  furnished  and  decorated  after  the  style  of 
Louis  Quinze, — all  filled  her  with  a  tender  pride  and  wist- 
ful admiration.  This  was  Philip's  home  !  and  she  was  here 
to  make  it  bright  and  glad  for  him  ! — she  could  imagine  no 
fairer  fate.  The  old  servants  of  the  place  welcomed  their 
new  mistress  with  marked  respect  and  evident  astonishment 
at  her  beauty,  though,  when  they  knew  her  better,  they 
marvelled  still  more  at  her  exceeding  gentleness  and  cour- 
tesy. The  housekeeper,  a  stately  white-haired  dame,  who 
had  served  the  former  Lady  Errington,  declared  she  was 
"  an  angel  " — while  the  butler  swore  profoundly  that  "  he 
knew  what  a  queen  was  like  at  last !  " 

The  whole  household  was  pervaded  with  an  affectionate 
eagerness  to  please  her,  though,  perhaps,  the  one  most  daz- 
zled by  her  entrancing  smile  and  sweet  consideration  for  his 
comfort  was  Edward  Neville,  Sir  Philip's  private  secre- 
tary and  librarian, — a  meek,  mild-featured  man  of  some  five 
and  forty  years  old,  whose  stooping  shoulders,  grizzled  hair, 
and  weak  eyes  gave  him  an  appearance  of  much  greater 
age.  Thelma  was  particularly  kind  to  Neville,  having  heard. 


266  THELMA. 

his  history  from  her  husband.  It  was  brief  and  sad.  He  had 
married  a  pretty  3'oung  girl  whom  he  had  found  earning  a 
bare  subsistence  as  a  singer  in  provincial  music-halls, — 
loving  her,  he  had  pitied  her  unprotected  state,  and  had  res- 
cued her  from  the  life  she  led — but  after  six  months  of  com- 
parative happiness,  she  had  suddenly  deserted  him,  leaving 
no  clue  as  to  where  or  why  she  had  gone.  His  grief  for  her 
loss,  weighed  heavily  upon  his  mind — he  brooded  incessantly 
upon  it — and  though  his  profession  was  that  of  a  music- 
master  and  organist,  he  grew  so  abstracted  and  inattentive 
to  the  claims  of  the  few  pupils  he  had,  that  they  fell  away 
from  him  one  by  one — and,  after  a  bit,  he  lost  his  post  as 
organist  to  the  village  church  as  well.  This  smote  him 
deeply,  for  he  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  was, 
moreover,  a  fine  player, — and  it  was  at  this  stage  of  his  mis- 
fortunes that  he  met  by  chance  Bruce-Erriugton.  Philip, 
just  then,  was  almost  broken-hearted — his  father  and  mother 
had  died  suddenly  within  a  week  of  one  another, — and  he, 
finding  the  blank  desolation  of  his  home  unbearable,  was 
anxious  to  travel  abroad  for  a  time,  so  soon  as  he  could  find 
some  responsible  person  in  whose  hands  to  leave  the  charge 
of  the  Manor,  with  its  invaluable  books  and  pictures,  during 
his  absence. 

Hearing  Neville's  history  through  a  mutual  friend,  he 
decided,  with  his  usual  characteristic  impulse,  that  here  was 
the  very  man  for  him — a  gentleman  by  birth,  rumored  to  be 
an  excellent  scholar, — and  he  at  once  offered  him  the  post 
he  had  in  view, — that  of  private  secretary  at  a  salary  of 
£200  per  annum.  The  astonished  Neville  could  not  at  first 
believe  in  his  good  fortune,  and  began  to  stammer  forth  his 
gratitude  with  trembling  lips  and  moistening  .eyes, — but 
Errington  cut  him  short  by  declaring  the  whole  thing  set- 
tled, and  desiring  him  to  enter  on  his  duties  at  once.  He 
was  forthwith  installed  in  his  position, — a  highly  enviable 
one  for  a  man  of  his  dreamy  and  meditative  turn  of  mind. 
To  him,  literature  and  music  were  precious  as  air  and  light, 
he  handled  the  rare  volumes  on  the  Errington  book-shelves 
with  lingering  tenderness,  and  often  pored  over  some  diffi- 
cult manuscript,  or  dusty  folio  till  long  past  midnight,  al- 
most forgetful  of  his  griefs  in  the  enchantment  thus  engen- 
dered. Nor  did  he  lack  his  supreme  comforter,  music, — 
there  was  a  fine  organ  at  the  lower  end  of  the  long  library, 
and  seated  at  his  beloved  instrument,  he  wiled  away  many 
an  hour, — steeping  his  soul  in  the  divine  and  solemn  melo 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  267 

dies  of  Palestrina  and  Pergolesi,  till  the  cruel  sorrow  that 
had  darkened  his  life  seemed  nothing  but  a  bad  dream,  and 
the  face  of  his  wife  as  he  had  first  known  it,  fair,  trustful, 
and  plaintive,  floated  before  his  eyes  unchanged,  and  arous- 
ing in  him  the  old  foolish  throbbing  emotions  of  rapture 
and  passion  that  had  gladdened  the  bygone  days. 

He  never  lost  the  hope  of  meeting  her  again,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  renewed  his  search  for  her,  though  all  use- 
lessly— he  studied  the  daily  papers  with  an  almost  morbid 
anxiety  lest  he  should  see  the  notice  of  her  death — and  he 
would  even  await  each  post  with  a  heart  beating  more  rap- 
idly than  usual,  in  case  there  should  be  some  letter  from 
her,  imploring  forgiveness,  explaining  eveiything,  and  sum- 
moning him  once  more  to  her  side.  He  found  a  true  and 
keenly  S3'mpathizing  friend  in  Sir  Philip,  to  whom  he  be- 
came profoundly  attached, — to  satisfy  his  wishes,  to  for- 
ward his  interests,  to  attend  to  his  affairs  with  punctilious 
exactitude — all  this  gave  Neville  the  supremest  happiness. 
He  felt  some  slight  doubt  and  anxiety,  when  he  first  re- 
ceived the  sudden  announcement  of  his  patron's  marriage, 
— but  all  forebodings  as  to  the  character  and  disposition  of 
the  new  Lady  Bruce-Errington  fled  like  mist  before  sun- 
shine, when  he  saw  Thelma's  fair  face  and  felt  her  friendly 
hand-clasp. 

Every  morning  on  her  way  to  the  breakfast-room,  she 
would  look  in  at  the  door  of  his  little  study,  which  adjoined 
the  libra ry,  and  he  learned  to  watch  for  the  first  glimmer  of 
her  dress,  and  to  listen  for  her  bright  "  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Neville  !  "  with  a  sensation  of  the  keenest  pleasure.  It  was 
a  sort  of  benediction  on  the  whole  day.  A  proud  man  was 
he  when  she  asked  him  to  give  her  lessons  on  the  organ, — 
and  never  did  he  forget  the  first  time  he  heard  her  sing. 
He  was  plaj'ing  an  exquisite  "  Ave  Maria,"  by  Stradella, 
and  she,  standing  by  her  husband's  side  was  listening,  when 
she  suddenly  exclaimed — 

"  Why,  we  used  to  sing  that  at  Aries  !  " — and  her  rich, 
round  voice  pealed  forth  clear,  solemn,  and  sweet,  following 
with  pure  steadiness  the  sustained  notes  of  the  organ. 
Neville's  heart  thrilled, — he  heard  her  with  a  sort  of  breath- 
less wonder  and  rapture,  and  when  she  ceased,  it  seemed  as 
though  heaven  had  closed  upon  him. 

"  One  cannot  praise  such  a  voice  as  that !  "  he  said.  "  It 
would  be  a  kind  of  sacrilege.  It  is  divine  !  " 

After  this,  many  were  the  pleasant  musical  evenings  they 


268  THELMA. 

all  passed  together  in  the  grand  old  library,  and, — as  Mra 
Rusb-Marvelle  had  so  indignantly  told  her  husband, — no 
visitors  were  invited  to  the  Manor  during  that  winter. 
Errington  was  perfectly-  happj' — he  wanted  no  one  but  his 
wife,  and  the  idea  of  entertaining  a  party  of  guests  who 
would  most  certainty  interfere  with  his  domestic  enjoj'inent, 
seemed  almost  abhorrent  to  him.  The  county-people 
called, — but  missed  seeing  Thelma,  for  during  the  daytime 
she  was  always  out  with  her  husband  taking  long  walks 
and  rambling  excursions  to  the  different  places  hallowed  by 
Shakespeare's  presence, — and  when  she,  instructed  by  Sir 
Philip,  called  on  the  county-people,  they  also  seemed  to  be 
never  at  home. 

And  so,  as  yet,  she  had  made  no  acquaintances,  and  now 
that  she  had  been  married  eight  months  and  had  come  to 
London,  the  same  old  stoiy  repeated  itself.  People  called 
on  her  in  the  afternoon  just  at  the  time  when  she  went  out 
driving, — when  she  returned  their  visits,  she,  in  her  turn, 
found  them  absent  She  did  not  as  yet  understand  the 
n  vstery  of  having  "  a  day  "  on  which  to  receive  visitors  in 
shoals — a  day  on  which  to  drink  unlimited  tea,  talk  plati- 
tudes, and  utterly  bored  and  exhausted  at  the  end  thereof — 
in  fact,  she  did  not  see  the  necessity  of  knowing  many 
people, — her  husband  was  all-sufficient  for  her, — to  be  in  his 
society  was  all  she  cared  for.  She  left  her  card  at  different 
houses  because  he  told  her  to  do  so,  but  this  social  duty 
amused  her  immensely. 

"  It  is  like  a  game  !  "  she  declared,  laughing,  "  some  one 
comes  and  leaves  these  little  cards  which  explain  who  they 
are,  on  me, — then  I  go  and  leave  my  little  cards  and  yours, 
explaining  who  we  are  on  that  some  one — and  we  keep  on 
doing  this,  yet  we  never  see  each  other  by  any  chance  !  It 
is  so  droll !  " 

Errington  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  explain  what  was 
really  the  fact, — namely,  that  none  of  the  ladies  who  had 
left  cards  on  his  wife  had  given  her  the  option  of  their  "  at 
home '"  da}r  on  which  to  call, — he  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  tell  her  what  he  knew  very  well,  that  his  "  set,"  both  in 
county  and  town,  had  resolved  to  "  snub ''  her  in  every 
petty  fashion  they  could  devise, — that  he  had  already  re- 
ceived several  invitations  which,  as  the}'  did  not  include 
her,  he  had  left  unanswered, — and  that  the  only  house  to 
which  she  had  as  yet  been  really  asked  in  proper  form  was 
that  of  Lady  Winsleig-h.  He  was  more  amused  than  vexed 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  269 

at  the  resolute  stand  made  by  the  so-called  "  leaders '  of 
society  against  her,  knowing  as  he  did,  most  thoroughly, 
how  she  must  conquer  them  all  in  the  end.  She  had  been 
seen  nowhere  as  yet  but  in  the  Park,  and  Philip  had  good 
reason  to  be  contented  with  the  excitement  her  presence  had 
created  there, — but  he  was  a  little  astonished  at  Lady 
Win  sleigh's  being  the  first  to  extend  a  formal  welcome  to 
his  unknown  bride.  Her  behavior  seemed  to  him  a  little 
suspicious, — for  he  certainly  could  not  digitise  from  himself 
that  she  had  at  one  time  been  most  violently  and  recklessly 
in  love  with  him.  He  recollected  one  or  two  most  painful 
scenes  he  had  had  with  her,  in  which  he  had  endeavored  to 
recall  her  to  a  sense  of  the  duty  she  owed  to  her  husband, 
— and  his  face  often  flushed  with  vexation  when  he  thought 
of  her  wild  and  wicked  abandonment  of  despair,  her  tears, 
her  passion,  and  distracted,  dishonoring  words.  Yet  she 
was  the  very  woman  who  now  came  forward  in  the  very 
front  of  society  to  receive  his  wife ! — he  could  not  quite 
understand  it.  After  all,  he  was  a  man, — and  the  sundry 
artful  tricks  and  wiles  of  fashionable  ladies  were,  naturally, 
beyond  him.  Thelma  had  never  met  Lacly  Winsleigh — not 
even  for  a  passing  glance  in  the  Park, — and  when  she  re- 
ceived the  invitation  for  the  grand  reception  at  Winsleigh 
House,  she  accepted  it,  because  her  husband  wished  her  so 
to  do,  not  that  she  herself  anticipated  any  particular  pleas- 
ure from  it.  When  the  day  came  round  at  last  she 
scarcely  thought  of  it,  till  at  the  close  of  their  pleasant 
breakfast  tete-d-tete  described  at  the  commencement  of  this 
chapter,  Philip  suddenly  said, — 

"  By-the-by,  Thelma,  I  have  sent  to  the  bank  for  the  Er- 
rington  diamonds.  They'll  be  here  presently.  I  want  you 
to  wear  them  to-night." 

Thelma  looked  puzzled  and  inquiring. 

"  To-night  ?  What  is  it  that  we  do  ?  I  forget !  Oh !  now  I 
know — it  is  to  go  to  Lady  Winsleigh.  What  will  it  be  like, 
Philip  ?  " 

"  Well,  there'll  be  heaps  of  people  all  cramming  and 
crowding  up  the  stairs  and  down  them  again, — you'll 
see  all  those  women  who  have  called  on  you,  and  you'll 
be  introduced  to  them, — I  dare  say  there'll  be  some 
bad  music  and  an  indigestible  supper — and — and — that's 
all !  " 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head  reproachfully. 

"  I  cannot  believe  you,  my  naughty  boy  !  "  she  said,  rising 


270  THELMA. 

from  her  seat,  and  kneeling  beside  him  with  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  soft  eyes  gazing  lovingly  into  his.  "  You  are 
nearly  as  bad  as  that  veiy  bad  Mr.  Lorimer,  who  will  al- 
ways see  strange  vexations  in  everything !  1  am  quite 
sure  Lady  Winsleigh  will  not  have  crowds  up  and  down  her 
stairs, — that  would  be  bad  taste.  And  if  she  has  music,  it 
will  be  good — and  she  would  not  give  her  friends  a  supper 
to  make  them  ill." 

Philip  did  not  answer.  He  was  studying  every  deli- 
icate  tint  in  his  wife's  dazzling  complexion  and  seemed 
absorbed. 

"  Wear  that  one  gown  you  got  from  Worth,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "  I  like  it — it  suits  3-011." 

"  Of  course  I  will  wear  it  if  you  wish,"  she  answered, 
laughing  still.  "  But  wh3<  ?  What  does  it  matter  ?  You 
want  me  to  be  something  very  splendid  in  dress  to- 
night ?  " 

Philip  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  I  want  you  to  eclipse 
every  woman  in  the  room !  "  he  said  with  remarkable 
emphasis. 

She  grew  rather  pensive.  "  I  do  not  think  that  would 
be  pleasant,"  she  said  gravely.  "  Besides,  it  is  impossible. 
And  it  would  be  wrong  to  wish  me  to  make  every  one  else 
dissatisfied  with  themselves.  That  is  not  like  you,  my 
Philip ! " 

He  touched  with  tender  fingers  the  great  glistening  coil 
of  hair  that  was  twisted  up  at  the  top  of  her  graceful  head. 

"  Ah,  darling !  You  don't  know  what  a  world  it  is,  and 
what  very  queer  people  there  are  in  it !  Never  mind  ?  .  . 

.  don't  bother  3'ourself  about  it.  You'll  have  a  good 
.  bird's-e3'e  view  of  society  to-night,  and  you  shall  tell  me 
afterwards  how  3rou  like  it.  I  shall  be  curious  to  know 
what  you  think  of  Lady  Winsleigh." 

"  She  is  beautiful,  is  she  not?" 

"  Well,  she  is  considered  so  b3r  most  of  her  acquaintances, 
and  by  herself,"  he  returned  with  a  smile. 

•'  I  do  like  to  see  very  pretty  faces,"  said  Thelma  warmly ; 
"  it  is  as  if  one  looked  at  pictures.  Since  I  have  been  in 
London  I  have  seen  so  man3r  of  them — it  is  quite  pleasant. 
Yet  none  of  these  lovely  ladies  seem  to  me  as  if  the3r  were 
really  happ3r  or  strong  in  health." 

"  Half  of  them  have  got  nervous  diseases  and  all  sorts 
of  things  wrong  with  them  from  over-much  tea  and  tight 
lacing,"  replied  Errington,  and  the  frw  who  are  tolerably 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  271 

healthy  are  too  bouncing  by  half,  going  in  for  hunting  and 
such-like  amusements  till  they  grow  blowsy  and  fat,  and 
coarse  as  torn-boys  or  grooms.  They  can  never  hit  the 
juste  milieu.  Well!"  and  he  rose  from  the  breakfast- 
table.  "  I'll  go  and  see  Neville  and  attend  to  business. 
We'll  drive  out  this  afternoon  for  some  fresh  air,  and  after- 
wards you  must  rest,  my  pet — for  you'll  find  an  '  at  home  ' 
more  tiring  than  climbing  a  mountain  in  Norway." 

He  kissed,  and  left  her  to  her  usual  occupations,  of  which 
she  had  many,  for  she  had  taken  great  pains  to  learn  all  the 
details  of  the  work  in  the  Errington  Establishment, — in 
fact,  she  went  every  morning  to  the  little  room  where  Mis- 
tress Parton,  the  housekeeper,  received  her  with  much  re- 
spect and  affection,  and  duly  instructed  her  on  every  point 
of  the  domestic  management  and  daily  expenditure,  so  that 
she  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  everything  that  went 
on. 

She  had  very  orderly  quiet  ways  of  her  own,  and  though 
thoughtful  for  the  comfort  and  well-being  of  the  lowest 
servant  in  her  household  she  very  firmly  checked  ail  ex- 
travagance and  waste,  }ret  in  such  a  gentle,  unobtrusive 
manner  that  her  control  was  scarcely  felt — though  her  hus- 
band at  once  recognized  it  in  the  gradually  decreasing 
weekly  expenses,  while  to  all  appearance,  things  were  the 
same  as  ever.  She  had  plenty  of  clear,  good  common 
sense, — she  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  waste  her  hus- 
band's wealth  simply  because  it  was  abundant, — so  that 
under  her  mild  sway,  Sir  Philip  found  himself  getting 
richer  without  an}'  trouble  on  his  own  part.  His  house  as- 
sumed an  air  of  lighter  and  more  tasteful  elegance, — flowers, 
al\va3-s  arranged  by  Thelma  herself,  adorned  the  rooms, — 
birds  filled  the  great  conservatory  with  their  delicious 
warblings,  and  gradually  that  strange  faiiy  sweet  fabric 
known  as  "  Home  ''  rose  smilingly  around  him.  Formerly 
he  had  much  disliked  his  stately  town  mansion — he  had 
thought  it  dull  and  cold — almost  gloomy, — but  now  he  con- 
sidered it  charming,  and  wondered  he  had  missed  so  many 
of  its  good  points  before. 

And  when  the  evening  for  Lady  Winsleigh's  "  crush " 
came, — he  looked  regretfully  round  the  lovely  luxurious 
drawing-room  with  its  bright  fire,  deep  easy  chairs,  books, 
and  grand  piano,  and  wished  he  and  his  wife  could  remain  at 
home  in  peace.  He  glanced  at  his  watch — it  was  ten  o'clock. 
There  was  no  hurry — he  had  not  the  least  intention  of 


272  THELMA. 

arriving  at  Winsleigh  House  too  early.  He  knew  what  the 
effect  of  Thelma's  entrance  would  be — and  he  smiled  as  he 
thought  of  it.  He  was  waiting  for  her  now, — he  himself 
was  ready  in  full  evening  dress — and  remarkably  handsome 
he  looked.  He  walked  up  and  down  restlessly  for  a  minute 
or  so, — then  taking  up  a  volume  of  Keats,  he  threw  himself 
into  an  easy  chair  and  soon  became  absorbed.  His  eyes 
were  still  on  the  printed  page,  when  a  light  touch  on  his 
shoulder  startled  him, — a  soft,  half-laughing  voice  in- 
quired— 

"  Philip  !     Do  I  please  you  ?  " 

He  sprang  up  and  faced  her, — but  for  a  moment  could 
not  speak.  The  perfection  of  her  beauty  had  never  ceased 
to  arouse  his  wonder  and  passionate  admiration, — but  on 
this  night,  as  she  stood  before  him,  arrayed  in  a  simple, 
trailing  robe  of  ivory-tinted  velvet,  with  his  family  dia- 
monds flashing  in  a  tiara  of  light  on  her  hair,  glistening 
against  the  whiteness  of  her  throat  and  rounded  arms,  she 
looked  angelically  lovely — so  radiant,  so  royal,  and  withal 
so  innocently  happy,  that,  wistfully  gazing  at  her,  and 
thinking  of  the  social  clique  into  which  she  was  about  to 
make  her  entry,  he  wondered  vaguety  whether  he  was  not 
wrong  to  take  so  pure  and  fair  a  creature  among  the  i'alse 
glitter  and  reckless  hypocrisy  of  modern  fashion  and  folly. 
And  so  he  stood  silent,  till  Thelma  grew  anxious. 

"  Ah,  j^ou  are  not  satisfied !  "  she  said  plaintively.  "  I  am 
not  as  you  wish !  There  is  something  wrong." 

He  drew  her  closely  into  his  arms,  kissing  her  with  an  al- 
most pathetic  tenderness. 

"  Thelma,  my  love,  rny-  sweet  one  1 "  and  his  strong  voice 
trembled.  u  You  do  not  know — how  should  you  ?  what  I 
think  of  3^ou  1  Satisfied  ?  Pleased  ?  Good  Heavens — 
what  little  words  those  are  to  express  my  feelings  !  I  can 
tell  }^ou  how  you  look,  for  nothing  can  ever  make  you  vain. 
You  are  beautiful  I  .  .  .  you  are  the  most  beautiful 
woman  1  have  ever  seen,  and  3'ou  look  j'our  ver)r  best  to- 
night. But  you  are  more  than  beautiful — you  are  good 

and  pure  and  true,  while  society  is But  wh}r  should  I 

destroy  your  illusions  ?  Only,  my  wife, — we  have  been  all 
in  all  to  each  other, — and  now  I  have  a  foblish  feeling  as 
if  things  were  going  to  be  different — as  if  we  should  not 
be  so  much  together — and  I  wish — I  wish  to  God  I  could 
keep  you  all  to  myself  without  anybody's  interference  1  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  though  she  smiled. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  273 

"  But  you  have  changed,  my  boy,  since  the  morning,"  she 
said.  "  Then  you  did  wish  me  to  be  particular  in  dress,— 
and  to  wear  your  jewels,  for  this  Lady  Winsleigh.  Now 
your  eyes  are  sad,  and  you  seem  as  if  you  would  rather  not 
go  at  all.  Well,  is  it  not  easy  to  remain  at  home  ?  I  will 
take  off  these  fine  things,  and  we  will  sit  together  and  read. 
Shall  it  be  so?" 

He  laughed.  "  I  believe  you  would  do  it  if  I  asked  you ! " 
he  said. 

"  But,  of  course !  I  am  quite  happy  alone  with  you.  I 
care  nothing  for  this  party, — what  is  it  to  me  if  you  do  not 
wish  to  go  ?  " 

He  kissed  her  again.  "  Thelma,  don't  spoil  me  too  much ! 
If  you  let  me  have  my  own  way  to  such  an  extent,  who 
knows  what  an  awful  domestic  tyrant  I  may  become !  No, 
dear — we  must  go  to-night — there's  no  help  for  it.  You  see 
we've  accepted  the  invitation,  and  it's  no  use  being  churlish. 
Besides,  after  all  " — he  gazed  at  her  admiringly — "  I  want 
them  to  see  my  Norwegian  rose !  Come  along !  The  car- 
riage is  waiting." 

They  passed  out  into  the  hall,  where  Britta  was  in  at- 
tendance with  a  long  cloak  of  pale-blue  plush  lined  with 
white  fur,  in  which  she  tenderly  enveloped  her  beloved 
"  Froken,"  her  rosy  face  beaming  with  affectionate  adora- 
tion as  she  glanced  from  the  fair  diamond-crowned  head 
down  to  the  point  of  a  small  pearl-embroidered  shoe  that 
peeped  beneath  the  edge  of  the  rich,  sheen}^  white  robe,  and 
saw  that  nothing  was  lacking  to  the  most  perfect  toilette 
that  ever  woman  wore. 

"  Good-night,  Britta !  "  said  Thelma  kindly.  "  You  must 
not  sit  up  for  me.  You  will  be  tired." 

Britta  smiled — it  was  evident  she  meant  to  outwatch  the 
stars,  if  necessary,  rather  than  allow  her  mistress  to  be  un- 
attended on  her  return.  But  she  said  nothing — she  waited 
at  the  door  while  Philip  assisted  his  wife  into  the  carriage 
— and  still  stood  musingly  under  the  wide  portico,  after 
they  had  driven  away. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  come  in,  Miss  Britta  ?  "  said  the  but- 
ler respectfully , — he  had  a  great  regard  for  her  ladyship's 
little  maid. 

Britta,  recalled  to  herself,  started,  turned,  and  re-entered 
the  hall. 

"  There  will  be  many  fine  folks  there  to-night,  I  suppose  ?  " 
she  asked. 
18 


274  TBELMA. 

The  butler  rubbed  his  nose  perplexedly.  "  Fine  folks  ? 
At  Winsleigh  House  ?  Well,  as  far  as  clothes  go,  I  dare  say 
there  will.  But  there'll  be  no  one  like  her  ladyship — no 
one !  "  And  he  shook  his  grey  head  emphatically. 

"  Of  course  not !  "  said  Britta,  with  a  sort  of  triumphant 
defiance.  "  We  know  that  very  well,  Morris  !  There's  no 
one  like  her  ladyship  anywhere  in  the  wide  world  1  But  I 
tell  you  what — I  think  a  great  many  people  will  be  jealous 
of  her." 

Morris  smiled.  "  You  may  take  your  oath  of  that,  Miss 
Britta,"  he  said  with  placid  conviction.  "  Jealous  !  Jealous 
isn't  the  word  for  it !  Why,"  and  he  surveyed  Britta's 
youthful  countenance  with  fatherly  interest,  "  j'ou're  only  a 
child  as  it  were,  and  you  don't  know  the  world  much. 
Now,  I've  been  five  and  twenty  years  in  this  family,  and  I 
knew  Sir  Philip's  mother,  the  Lady  Eulalie — he  named  his 
yacht  after  her.  Ah  !  she  was  a  sweet  creature — she  came 
from  Austria,  and  she  was  as  dark  as  her  present  ladyship 
is  fair.  Wherever  she  went,  1  tell  j'on,  the  women  were 
ready  to  cry  for  spite  and  envy  of  her  good  looks — and 
they  would  say  anything  against  her  they  could  invent. 
That's  the  way  they  go  on  sometimes  in  societ}7,  you 
know." 

"  As  bad  as  in  Bosekop,"  murmured  Britta,  more  to  her- 
self than  to  him,  "  only  London  is  a  larger  place."  Then 
raising  her  voice  again,  she  said,  "  Perhaps  there  will  be 
some  people  wicked  enough  to  hate  her  ladyship,  Morris  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Morris  philosophically.  "  I 
shouldn't  wonder  at  all  I  There's  a  deal  of  hate  about  one 
way  or  another, — and  if  a  lady  is  as  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
and  cuts  out  everybody  wherever  she  goes,  why  you  can't 
expect  the  other  ladies  to  be  very  fond  of  her.  'Tisn't  in 
human  nature — at  least  not  in  feminine  human  nature. 
Men  -don't  care  much  about  their  looks,  one  way  or  the 
other,  unless  they're  young  chaps — then  one  has  a  little  pa- 
tience with  them  and  they  come  all  right." 

But  Britta  had  become  meditative  again.  She  went  slowly 
up  into  her  mistress's  room  and  began  arranging  the  few 
trifles  that  had  been  left  in  disorder. 

"  Just  fancy  !  " — she  said  to  herself — "  some  one  may  hate 
the  Froken  even  in  London  just  as  they  hated  her  in  Bose- 
kop, because  she  is  so  unlike  everybody  else.  /  shall  keep 
my  eyes  open, — and  /  shall  soon  find  out  any  wickedness 
against  her  I  My  beautiful,  dear  darling !  I  believe  the 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  275 

world  is  a  cruel  place  after  all, — but  she  shan't  be  made  un- 
happy in  it,  if  I  can  help  it ! " 

And  with  this  emphatic  declaration,  she  kissed  a  little 
shoe  of  Thelma's  that  she  was  just  putting  by — and, 
smoothing  her  curls,  went  down  to  her  supper. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Such  people  there  are  living  and  flourishing;  in  the  world, — Faith- 
less, Hopeless,  Chaiityless, — let  us  have  at  them,  dear  friends,  with 
might  and  main  !  "— THACKERAY. 

WHO  can  adequately  describe  the  thrilling  excitement  at- 
tending an  aristocratic  "  crush," — an  extensive,  sweeping- 
oft'-of-old-scores  "  at  home," — that  scene  of  bewildering  con- 
fusion which  might  be  appropriately  set  forth  to  the  minds 
of  the  vulgar  in  the  once-popular  ditty,  "  Such  a  getting- 
up-stairs  I  never  did  see  !  "  Who  can  paint  in  sufficiently 
brilliant  colors  the  mere  outside  of  a  house  thus  distin- 
guished by  this  strange  festivity,  in  which  there  is  no  act- 
ual pleasure, — this  crowding  of  carriages — this  shouting  of 
small  boys  and  policemen? — who  can,  in  words,  delineate 
the  various  phases  of  lofty  indignation  and  offense  on  the 
countenances  of  pompous  coachmen,  forced  into  contention 
with  vulgar  but  good-natured  "  cabbys  " — for  right  of  way  ? 
.  .  .  who  can  sufficiently  set  forth  the  splendors  of  a 
striped  awning  avenue,  lined  on  both  sides  with  a  collec- 
tion of  tropical  verdure,  hired  for  the  occasion  at  so  much 
per  dozen  pots,  and  illuminated  with  Chinese  lanterns  ! 
Talk  of  orange  groves  in  Italy  and  the  languid  light  of  a 
southern  moon  !  What  are  they  compared  to  the  marvels 
of  striped  awning?  Mere  trees — mere  moonlight — (poor 
products  of  Nature  !)  do  not  excite  either  wonder  or  envy 
— but,  strange  to  say,  an  awning  avenue  invariably  does  ! 
As  soon  as  it  is  erected  in  all  its  bland  suggestiveness, 
no  matter  at  what  house,  a  small  crowd  of  street-arabs 
and  nursemaids  collect  to  stare  at  it, — and  when  tired  of 
staring,  pass  and  repass  under  it  with  peculiar  satisfac- 
tion ;  the  beggar,  starving  for  a  crust,  lingers  doubtfully 
near  it,  and  ventures  to  inquire  of  the  influenza-smitten 
crossing-sweeper  whether  it  is  a  wedding  or  a  party  ?  And 
if  Awning  Avenue  means  matrimony,  the  beggar  waits  to 
see  the  guests  come  out ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  it  stands 
for  some  evening  festivity,  he  goes,  resolving  to  return  at 


276  THELMA. 

the  appointed  hour,  and  try  if  he  cannot  persuade  one 
"  swell  "  at  least  to  throw  him  a  penny  for  his  night's 
supper.  Yes — a  great  many  people  endure  sharp  twinges 
of  discontent  at  the  sight. of  Awning  Avenue, — people  who 
can't  afford  to  give  parties,  and  who  wish  they  could, — 
pretty,  sweet  girls  who  never  go  to  a  dance  in  their  lives, 
and  long  with  all  their  innocent  hearts  for  a  glimpse, — 
just  one  glimpse! — of  what  seems  to  them  inexhaustible, 
fairy-like  delight, — lonely  folks,  who  imagine  in  their  sim- 
plicity that  all  who  are  privileged  to  pass  between  the 
lines  of  hired  tropical  foliage  aforementioned,  must  perforce 
be  the  best  and  most  united  of  friends — hungry  men  and 
women  who  picture,  with  watering  mouths,  the  supper- 
table  that  lies  beyond  the  awning,  laden  with  good  things, 
of  the  very  names  of  which  they  are  hopelessly  ignorant, 
— while  now  and  then  a  stern,  dark-browed  Thinker  or  two 
may  stalk  by  and  metaphorically  shake  his  fist  at  all  the 
waste,  extravagance,  useless  luxury,  humbug,  and  hypoc- 
risy Awning  Avenue  usually  symbolizes,  and  may  mutter 
in  his  beard,  like  an  old-fashioned  tragedian,  "  A  time  will 
come  !  "  Yes,  Sir  Thinker  ! — it  will  most  undoubtedly — 
it  must — but  not  through  you — not  through  any  mere  hu- 
man agency.  Modern  society  contains  within  itself  the 
seed  of  its  own  destruction, — the  most  utter  Nihilist  that 
ever  swore  deadly  oath  need  but  contain  his  soul  in  pa- 
tience and  allow  the  seed  to  ripen.  For  God's  justice  is 
as  a  circle  that  slowly  surrounds  an  evil  and  as  slowly 
closes  on  it  with  crushing  and  resistless  force, — and  fever- 
ish, fretting  humanity,  however  nobly  inspired,  can  do 
nothing  either  to  hasten  or  retard  the  round,  perfect,  ab- 
solute and  Divine  Law.  So  let  the  babes  of  the  world 
play  on,  and  let  us  not  frighten  them  with  stories  of  earth- 
quakes ;  they  are  miserable  enough  as  it  is,  believe  it ! 
— their  toys  are  so  brittle,  and  snap  in  their  feeble  hands 
so  easily,  that  one  is  inclined  to  pity  them  !  And  Awn- 
ing Avenue,  with  its  borrowed  verdure  and  artificial  light, 
is  frequently  erected  for  the  use  of  seme  of  the  most 
wretched  among  the  children  of  the  earth, — children  who 
have  trifled  with  and  lost  everything, — love,  honor,  hope, 
and  faith,  and  who  are  travelling  rapidly  to  the  grave 
with  no  consolation  save  a  few  handfuls  of  base  coin, 
which  they  must,  perforce,  leave  behind  them  at  the  last. 

So  it  may  be  that  the  crippled  crossing-sweeper  outside 
Winsleigh   House   is   a  very  great  deal  happier  than  the 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  277 

master  of  that  statety  mansion.  He  has  a  new  broom, — and 
Master  Ernest  Winsleigh  has  given  him  two  oranges,  and 
a  rather  bulky  stick  of  sugar  candy.  He  is  a  protege  of 
Ernest's — that  bright  handsome  boy  considers  it  a  "  jolly 
shame  "—to  have  only  one  leg, — and  has  said  so  with  much 
emphasis, — and  though  the  little  sweeper  himself  has  never 
regarded  his  affliction  quite  in  that  light,  he  is  exceedingly 
grateful  for  the  3roung  gentleman's  patronage  and  sym- 
pathy thus  frankly  expressed.  And  on  this  particular  night 
of  the  grand  reception  he  stands,  leaning  on  his  broom  and 
munching  his  candy,  a  delighted  spectator  of  the  scene 
in  Park  Lane, — the  splendid  equipages,  the  prancing 
horses,  the  glittering  liveries,  the  excited  cabmen,  the  mag- 
nificent toilettes  of  the  ladies,  the  solemn  and  resigned  de- 
portment of  the  gentlemen, — and  he  envies  none  of  them — 
not  he  !  Why  should  he  ?  His  oranges  are  in  his  pocket — 
untouched  as  yet— and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  crowding 
guests  at  the  Winsleigh  supper-table  sliall  find  anything 
there  to  yield  them  such  entire  enjoj'ment  as  he  will 
presently  take  in  his  humble  yet  refreshing  desert.  And  he 
is  pleased  as  a  child  at  a  pantomime — the  Winsleigh  "  at 
home  "  is  a  show  that  amuses  him, — and  he  makes  sundry 
remarks  on  "  'im  "  and  "  'er  "  in  a  meditative  sotto  voce. 
He  peeps  up  Awning  Avenue  heedless  of  the  severe  eye  of 
the  policeman  on  guard, — he  sweeps  the  edge  of  the  crimson 
felt  foot-cloth  tenderly  with  his  broom, — and  if  he  has  a  de- 
sire ungratified,  it  is  that  he  might  take  a  peep  just  for  a 
minute  inside  the  front  door,  and  see  how  "  they're  all 
a'goin'  it !  " 

And  how  are  they  a'goin'  it !  Well,  not  very  hilariously, 
if  one  may  judge  by  the  aspect  of  the  gentlemen  in  the  hall 
and  on  the  stairs, — gentlemen  of  serious  demeanor,  who  are 
leaning,  as  though  exhausted,  against  the  banisters,  with  a 
universal  air  of  profound  weariness  and  dissatisfaction. 
Some  of  these  are  young  fledglings  of  manhood, — callow 
birds  who,  though  by  no  means  innocent, — are  more  or  less 
inexperienced, — and  who  have  fluttered  hither  to  the  snare 
of  Lady  Winsleigh's  "  at  home,"  half  expecting  to  be 
allowed  to  make  love  to  their  hostess,  and  so  have  some- 
thing to  boast  of  afterwards, — others  are  of  the  middle-aged 
complacent  type,  who,  though  infinitely  bored,  have  con- 
descended to  u  look  in  "  for  ten  minutes  or  so,  to  see  if  there 
are  any  pretty  women  worth  the  honor  of  their  criticism — 
others  again  (and  these  are  the  most  unfortunate)  are  the 


278  THELMA. 

"nobodies" — or  husbands,  fathers,  and  brothers  of 'beau, 
ties,"  whom  they  have  dutifully  escorted  to  the  scene  of 
triumph,  in  which  they,  unlock}-  wights  !  are  certainly  not 
expected  to  share.  A  little  desultory  conversation  goes  on 
among  these  stair-loungers, — conversation  mingled  with 
much  dreary  yawning, — a  trained  opera-singer  is  shaking 
forth  chromatic  roulades  and  trills  in  the  great  drawing-room 
above, — there  is  an  incessant  stream  of  people  coming  and 
going, — there  is  the  rustle  of  silk  and  satin, — perfume 
shaken  out  of  lace  kerchiefs,  and  bouquets  oppresses  the 
warm  air, — the  heat  is  excessive, — and  there  is  a  never-end- 
ing monotonous  hum  of  voices,  only  broken  at  rare  inter- 
vals by  the  "  society  laugh  " — that  unmeaning  giggle  on 
the  part  of  the  women, — that  strained  "  ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  on  the 
part  of  the  men,  which  is  but  the  faint  ghostly  echo  of  the 
farewell  voice  of  true  mirth. 

Presently,  out  of  the  ladies'  cloak-room  come  two  fasci- 
nating figures — the  one  plump  and  matronly,  with  grey  hair 
and  a  capacious  neck  glittering  with  diamonds, — the  other 
a  slim  girl  in  pale  pink,  with  dark  eyes  and  a  ravishing 
complexion,  for  whom  the  lazy  gentlemen  on  the  stairs 
make  immediate  and  respectful  room. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  ? "  says  one  of  the 
loungers. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Marcia ! "  says  another,  a  sandy- 
haired  young  man,  with  a  large  gardenia  in  his  button- 
hole, and  a  glass  in  his  eye. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Miss  Marcia  stops  and  regards 
him  with  a  surprised  smile.  She  is  very  pretty,  is  Marcia, 
— bewitchingly  pretty, — and  she  has  an  air  of  demure  grace 
and  modesty  about  her  that  is  perfectly  charming.  Wh}r ! 
oh,  why  does  she  not  remain  in  that  sylph-like  attitude  of 
questioning  silence  ?  But  she  speaks — and  the  charm  is 
broken. 

"  Waal  now !  Dew  tell !  "  she  exclaims.  "  I  thought 
yew  were  in  Pa-ar — is  !  Ma,  would  yew  have  concluded  to 
find  Lord  Algy  here?  This  is  too  lovely  !  If  I'd  known 
yew  were  coming  I'd  have  stopped  at  home — }res,  I  would 
—that's  so!  " 

And  she  nods  her  little  head,  crowned  with  its  glossy 
braids  of  chestnut  hair,  in  a  very  coquettish  manner, 
while  her  mother,  persistently  beaming  a  stereotyped  com- 
pany smile  ou  all  around  her,  begins  to  ascend  the  stairs, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  279 

beckoning  her  daughter  to  follow.  Marcia  does  so,  and 
Lord  Algernon  Masherville  escorts  her. 

"•  You — you  didn't  mean  that  ? "  he  stammers  rathei 
feebly — "  You — you  don't  mind  my  being  here,  do  you  ? 
I'm — I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you  again,  you  know — and — 
er — all  that  sort  of  thing  !  " 

Marcia  darts  a  keen  glance  at  him, — the  glance  of  an  ob- 
servant, clear-headed  magpie. 

"  Oh  yes !  I  dare  say  !  "  she  remarks  with  airy  scorn. 
"  S'pect  me  to  believe  yew!  Waal !  Did  yew  have  a  good 
time  in  Pa-ar — is  ?  " 

"  Fairly  so,"  answers  Lord  Masherville  indifferently.  "  I 
only  came  back  two  days  ago.  Lady  Winsleigh  met  me  by 
chance  at  the  theatre,  and  asked  me  to  look  in  to-night  for 
1  some  fun '  she  said.  Have  you  any  idea  what  she  meant  ?  '' 

"  Of  course !  "  saj's  the  fair  New  Yorker,  with  a  little 
nasal  laugh, — "  don't  yew  know  ?  We're  all  here  to  see  the 
fisherwoman  from  the  wilds  of  Norway, — the  creature  Sir 
Philip  Errington  married  last  year.  I  conclude  she'll  give 
us  fits  all  round,  don't  yew  ?  " 

Lord  Masherville,  at  this,  appears  to  hesitate.  His  eye- 
glass troubles  him,  and  he  fidgets  with  its  black  string.  He 
is  not  intellectual — he  is  the  most  vacillating,  most  meek 
and  timid  of  mortals — but  he  is  a  gentleman  in  his  own 
poor  fashion,  and  has  a  sort  of  fluttering  chivalry  about  him, 
which,  though  feeble,  is  better  than  none. 

"  I  really  cannot  tell  you,  Miss  Marcia,"  he  replies  almost 
nervously.  "  I  hear — at  the  Club, — that — that  Lady  Bruce- 
Errington  is  a  great  beauty." 

"  Dew  tell !  "  shrieks  Marcia,  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 
"  Is  she  really  though!  But  I  guess  her  looks  won't  mend 
her  grammar  any  way  !  " 

He  makes  no  reply,  as  by  this  time  they  have  reached 
the  crowded  drawing-room,  wbere  Lady  Winsleigh,  radiant 
in  ruby  velvet  and  rose-brilliants,  stands  receiving  her 
guests,  with  a  cool  smile  and  nod  for  mere  acquaintances, — 
and  a  meaning  flash  of  her  dark  eyes  for  her  intimates,  and 
a  general  air  of  haughty  insolence  and  perfect  self-satisfac- 
tion pervading  her  from  head  to  foot.  Close  to  her  is  her 
husband,  grave,  courtly,  and  kind  to  all  comers,  and  fulfill- 
ing his  duty  as  host  to  perfection, — still  closer  is  Sir 
Francis  Lennox,  who  in  the  pauses  of  the  incoming  tide  of 
guests  finds  occasion  to  whisper  trifling  nothings  in  her  tiny 
white  ear,  and  even  once  ventures  to  arrange  more  taste 


280  THELMA. 

fully  a  falling  cluster  of  pale  roses  that  rests  lightly  on  the 
brief  shoulder-strap  (called  by  courtesy  a  sleeve)  which 
keeps  her  ladyship's  bodice  in  place. 

Mrs.  Ilush-Marvelle  is  here  too,  in  all  her  glory, — her 
good-humored  countenance  and  small  nose  together  beam 
with  satisfaction, — her  voluminous  train  of  black  satin 
showered  with  jet  gets  in  everybody's  wa}r, — her  ample 
bosom  heaves  like  the  billowy  sea,  somewhat  above  the 
boundary  line  of  transparent  lace  that  would  fain  restrain 
it — but  in  this  particular  she  is  prudence  itself  compared 
with  her  hostess,  whose  charms  are  exhibited  with  the  un- 
blushing frankness  of  a  ballet-girl, — and  whose  example  is 
followed,  it  must  be  confessed,  by  most  of  the  women  in  the 
room.  Is  Mr.  Rush-Marvelle  here  ?  Oh  yes — after  some 
little  trouble  we  discover  him, — squeezed  against  the  wall 
and  barricaded  by  the  grand  piano, — in  company  with  a 
large  album,  over  which  he  pores,  feigning  an  almost  morbid 
interest  in  the  portraits  of  persons  he  has  never  seen,  and 
never  will  see.  Beside  him  is  a  melancholy  short  man  with 
long  hair  and  pimples,  who  surveys  the  increasing  crowd  in 
the  room  with  an  aspect  that  is  almost  tragic.  Once  or 
twice  he  eyes  Mr.  Marvelle  dubiously  as  though  he  would 
speak — and,  finally,  he  does  speak,  tapping  that  album-en- 
tranced gentleman  on  the  arm  with  an  energy  that  is  some- 
what startling. 

"  It  is  to  blay  I  am  here  !  "  he  announces.  "  To  blay  ze 
biano  !  I  am  great  artist !  "  He  rolls  his  eyes  wildly  and 
with  a  sort  of  forced  calmness  proceeds  to  enumerate  on  his 
fingers — "  Baris,  Vienna,  Rome,  Berlin,  St.  Betersburg — 
all  know  me !  All  resbect  me !  See  !  "  And  he  holds  out 
his  button-hole  in  which  there  is  a  miniature  red  ribbon. 
"  From  ze  Emberor  !  Kaiser  Wilhelm  !  "  He  exhibits  a 
ring  on  his  little  finger.  "From  ze  Tsar!"  Another 
rapid  movement  and  a  pompous  gold  watch  is  thrust  before 
the  bewildered  gaze  of  his  listener.  "  From  my  bubils  in 
Baris !  I  am  bianist — I  am  here  to  blay  !  " 

And  raking  his  fingers  through  his  long  locks,  he  stares 
defiantly  around  him.  Mr.  Rush-Marvelle  is  a  little  fright- 
ened. This  is  an  eccentric  personage — he  must  be  soothed. 
Evidently  he  must  be  soothed ! 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  quite  understand !  "  he  says,  nodding  per- 
suasively at  the  excited  genius.  "  You  are  here  to  play. 
Exactly  I  Yes,  yes !  We  shall  all  have  the  pleasure  of 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  281 

hearing  you  presently.  Delightful,  I'm  sure  1  You  are 
the  celebrated  Herr — ?" 

"  Machtsnklinken,"  adds  the  pianist  haughtily.  "  Ze 
celebrated  Maehtenklinken!" 

"  Yes — oh — er, — yes !  "  And  Mr.  Marvelle  grapples 
desperately  with  this  terrible  name.  "  Oh — er — yes !  I — 

er  know  you  by  reputation  Herr — er — Machten .  Oh, 

er — yes !  Pray  excuse  me  for  a  moment !  " 

And  thankfully  catching  the  commanding  eye  of  his 
wife,  he  scrambles  hastily  away  from  the  piano  and  joins 
her.  She  is  talking  to  the  Aran  Clupps,  and  she  wants  him 
to  take  away  Mr.  Van  Clupp,  a  white-headed,  cunning-look- 
ing old  man,  for  a  little  conversation,  in  order  that  she  may 
be  free  to  talk  over  certain  naughty  bits  of  scandal  with 
Mrs.  Van  Clupp  and  Marcia. 

To-night  there  is  no  place  to  sit  down  in  all  the  grand 
extent  of  the  Winsleigh  drawing-rooms, — puffy  old  dowa- 
gers occupy  the  sofas,  ottomans,  and  chairs,  and  the  largest 
and  most  brilliant  portion  of  the  assemblage  are  standing, 
grinning  into  each  other's  faces  with  praiseworthy  and 
polite  pertinacity,  and  talking  as  rapidly  as  though  their 
lives  depended  on  how  many  words  they  could  utter  within 
the  space  of  two  minutes.  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle,  Mrs.  Van 
Clupp  and  Marcia  make  their  way  slowly  through  the  gab- 
bling, pushing,  smirking  crowd  till  they  form  a  part  of  the 
little  coterie  immediately  round  Lady  Winsleigh,  to  whom, 
at  the  first  opportunity,  Mrs.  Marvelle  whispers — 

"  Have  they  come  ?  " 

"The  modern  Paris  and  the  new  Helen?"  laughs  Lady 
Clara,  with  a  shrug  of  her  snowy  shoulders.  "  No,  not  yet. 
Perhaps  they  won't  turn  up  at  all !  Marcia  dear,  you  look 
quite  charming  I  Where  is  Lord  Algy  ? " 

"  I  guess  he's  not  a  thousand  miles  away !  "  returns  Mar- 
cia, with  a  knowing  twinkle  of  her  dark  eyes.  "  He'll  hang 
round  here  presently !  Why, — there's  Mr.  Lorimer  worry- 
ing in  at  the  doorway !  " 

"  Worrying  in "  is  scarcely  the  term  to  apply  to  the 
polite  but  determined  manner  in  which  George  Lorimer 
coolly  elbows  a  passage  among  the  heaving  bare  shoulders, 
backs,  fat  arms,  and  long  trains  that  seriously  obstruct  his 
passage,  but  after  some  trouble  he  succeeds  in  his  efforts  to 
reach  his  fair  hostess,  who  receives  him  with  rather  a  super- 
cilious uplifting  of  her  delicate  eyebrows. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Lorimer,  you  are  quite  a  stranger  1 "  she 


282  THELMA. 

observes   somewhat   satirically.     "'We   thought    you   had 
made  up  your  mind  to  settle  in  Norway  !  " 

"  Did  you  really,  though  !  "  and  Lorimer  smiles  languidly. 
"  I  wonder  at  that, — for  you  knew  I  came  back  from  that 
region  in  the  August  of  last  year." 

"  And  since  then  I  suppose  you  have  plaj-ed  the  hermit  ?  " 
inquires  her  ladyship  indifferently,  unfurling  her  fen  of  os- 
trich feathers  and  waving  it  slowly  to  and  fro. 

"  By  no  means  !  I  went  off  to  Scotland  with  a  friend, 
Alec  Macfarlane,  and  had  some  excellent  shooting.  Then, 
as  I  never  permit  my  venerable  mamma  to  pass  the  winter 
in  London,  I  took  her  to  Nice,  from  which  delightful  spot 
we  returned  three  weeks  ago." 

Lady  Winsleigh  laughs.  "  I  did  not  ask  you  for  a  cate- 
gorical explanation  of  your  movements,  Mr.  Lorimer,"  she 
says  lightly — "  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  enjoyed  yourself?  " 

He  bows  gravely.  "  Thanks  1  Yes, — strange  to  say,  I 
did  manage  to  extract  a  little  pleasure  here  and  there  out 
of  the  universal  dry  ness  of  things." 

"  Have  you  seen  your  friend,  Sir  Philip,  sinco  he  came  to 
town?"  asks  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  in  her  stately  way. 

"  Several  times.  I  have  dined  with  him  and  Lady  Er- 
rington  frequently.  I  understand  they  are  to  be  here  to- 
night ?  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  fans  herself  a  little  more  rapidly,  and 
her  full  crimson  lips  tighten  into  a  thin,  malicious  line. 

"  Well,  I  asked  them,  of  course, — as  a  matter  of  form," 
she  says  carelessly, — "but  I  shall,  on  the  whole,  be  rather 
relieved  if  they  don't  come." 

A  curious,  amused  look  comes  over  Lorimer's  face. 

"  Indeed !     May  I  ask  why  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  the  reason  ought  to  be  perfectly  appar- 
ent to  you  " — and  her  ladyship's  eyes  flash  angrily.  "  Sir 
Philip  is  all  very  well — he  is  by  birth  a  gentleman, — but 
the  person  he  has  married  is  not  a  lady,  and  it  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly unpleasant  duty  for  me  to  have  to  receive  her." 

A  faint  tinge  of  color  flushes  Lorimer's  brow.  "  I 
think,"  he  sa3rs  slowly,  "  I  think  you  will  find  yourself  mis- 
taken, Lady  Winsleigh.  I  believe —  Here  he  pauses, 
and  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  fixes  him  with  a  stony  stare. 

"  Are  we  to  understand  that  she  is  educated  ?  "  she  in- 
quires freezingly.  "  Positively  well-educated  ?  " 

Lorimer  laughs.  "  Not  according  to  the  standard  of 
modern  fashionable  requirements  1  "  he  replies. 


THE  LAND  Of  MOCKERY.  283 

Mrs.  Marvelle  sniffs  the  air  portentously, — Lady  Clara 
curls  her  lip.  At  that  moment  everybody  makes  respectful 
way  for  one  of  the  most  important  guests  of  the  evening — 
a  broad-shouldered  man  of  careless  attire,  rough  hair,  fine 
features,  and  keen,  mischievous  eyes- —a  man  of  whom  many 
stand  in  wholesome  awe, — Beauibrt  Lovelace,  or  as  he  is 
commonly  called.  "  Beau  "  Lovelace,  a  brilliant  novelist, 
critic,  and  pitiless  satirist.  For  him  society  is  a  game, — a 
gay  humming-top  which  he  spins  on  the  palm  of  his  Ii^nd 
for  his  own  private  amusement.  Once  a  scribbler  in  an  at- 
tic, subsisting  bravely  on  bread  and  cheese  and  hope,  he 
now  lords  it  more  than  half  the  year  in  a  palace  of  fairy- 
like  beauty  on  the  Lago  di  Como, — and  he  is  precisely  the 
same  person  who  was  formerly  disdained  and  flouted  by  fair 
ladies  because  his  clothes  were  poor  and  shabby,  yet  for 
whom  they  now  practise  all  the  arts  known  to  their  sex,  in 
fruitless  endeavors  to  charm  and  conciliate  him.  For  he 
laughs  at  them  and  their  pretty  ways, — and  his  laughter  is 
merciless.  His  arrowy  glance  discovers  the  "  poudre  de 
riz  "  on  their  blooming  cheeks, — the  carmine  on  their  lips, 
and  the  "  kohl "  on  their  eyelashes.  He  knows  purchased 
hair  from  the  natural  growth — and  he  has  a  cruel  eye  for 
discerning  the  artificial  contour  of  a  "  made-up  "  figure. 
And  like  a  merry  sat}rr  dancing  in  a  legendary  forest,  he 
capers  and  gambols  in  the  vast  fields  of  Humbug — all  forms 
of  it  are  attacked  and  ridiculed  by  his  powerful  and  pun- 
gent pen, — he  is  a  sort  of  English  Heine,  gathering  in  rich 
and  daily  harvests  from  the  never-perishing  incessantly- 
growing  crop  of  fools.  And  as  he, — in  all  the  wickedness 
of  daring  and  superior  intellect, — approaches,  Lady  Wins- 
leigh  draws  herself  up  with  the  conscious  air  of  a  beauty 
who  knows  she  is  nearly  perfect, — Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle 
makes  a  faint  endeavor  to  settle  the  lace  more  modestly 
over  her  rebellious  bosom, — Marcia  smiles coquettishly,  and 
Mrs.  Van  Clupp  brings  her  diamond  pendant  (value,  a 
thousand  guineas)  more  prominently  forward, — for  as  she 
thinks,  poor  ignorant  soul!  "  wealth  always  impresses  these 
literary  men  more  than  an}rthing  1 "  In  one  swift  glance 
Beau  Lovelace  observes  all  these  different  movements, — and 
the  inner  fountain  of  his  mirth  begins  to  bubble.  "  What 
fun  those  Van  Clupps  are !  "  he  thinks.  "  The  old  woman's 
got  a  diamond  plaster  on  her  neck  !  Horrible  taste  I  She's 
anxious  to  show  how  much  she's  worth,  I  suppose  !  Mrs. 
Marvelle  wants  a  shawl,  and  Lady  Clara  a  bodice.  By 


284  TSELMA. 

Jove!  What  sights  the  women  do  make  of  them- 
selves ! " 

But  his  face  betraj's  none  of  these  reflections, — its  ex- 
pression is  one  of  polite  gravity,  though  a  sudden  sweet- 
ness smooths  it  as  he  shakes  hands  with  Lord  Winsleigh 
and  Lorimer, — a  sweetness  that  shows  how  remarkably 
handsome  Beau  can  look  if  he  chooses.  He  rests  one  hand 
on  Lorimer's  shoulder. 

"  Why,  George,  old  boy,  I  thought  you  were  playing  the 
dutiful  son  at  Nice  ?  Don't  tell  me  }rou've  deserted  the 
dear  old  lady  !  Where  is  she  ?  You  know  I've  got  to  fin- 
ish that  argument  with  her  about  her  beloved  Byron." 

Lorimer  laughs.  "  Go  and  finish  it  when  you  like, 
Beau,"  he  answers.  "  My  mother's  all  right.  She's  at 
home.  You  know  she's  always  charmed  to  see  you.  She's 
delighted  with  that  new  book  of  yours." 

"  Is  she  ?     She  finds  pleasure  in  trifles  then " 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Lovelace  1  "  interrupts  Lad}r  Clara,  with  a 
winning  glance.  "  You  must  not  run  yourself  down  !  The 
book  is  exquisite  !  I  got  it  at  once  from  the  library,  and 
read  every  line  of  it !  " 

"  I  am  exceedingly  flattered !  "  sa}rs  Lovelace,  with  a 
grave  bow,  though  there  is  a  little  twinkling  mockery  in 
his  glance.  "  When  a  lady  so  bewitching  condescends  to 
read  what  I  have  written,  how  can  I  express  my  emotion  1  " 

"  The  press  is  unanimous  in  its  praise  of  you,"  remarks 
Lord  Winsleigh  cordially.  "  You  are  quite  the  lion  of  the 
day!" 

"  Oh  quite !  "  agrees  Beau  laughing.  "  And  do  I  not 
roar  '  as  sweet  as  any  nightingale  '  ?  But  I  say,  where's 
.  the  new  beajity  ?  " 

"  I  really  do  not  know  to  whom  you  allude,  Mr.  Love- 
lace," replies  Lady  Winsleigh  coldly.  Lorimer  smiles  and 
is  silent.  Beau  looks  from  one  to  the  other  amusedly. 

"  Perhaps  I've  made  a  mistake,"  he  says,  "  but  the  Duke 
of  Roxwell  is  responsible.  He  told  me  that  if  I  came  here 
to-night  I  should  see  one  of  the  loveliest  women  living, — 
Lady  Bruce-Errington.  He  saw  her  in  the  park.  I  think 
this  gentleman  " — indicating  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  who  bites 
his  moustache  vexedly — "  said  quite  openty  at  the  Club 
last  night  that  she  was  the  new  beauty, — and  that  she 
would  be  here  this  evening." 

Lad}r  Winsleigh  darts  a  side  glance  at  her  "  Lennie  " 
that  is  far  from  pleasant. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  285 

"  Really  it's  perfectly  absurd  !  "  she  says,  with  a  scornful 
toss  of  her  head.  "  We  shall  have  housemaids  and  bar- 
girls  accepted  as  '  quite  the  rage '  next.  I  do  not  know 
Sir  Philip's  wife  in  the  least, — I  hear  she  was  a  common 
farmer's  daughter.  I  certainly  invited  her  to-night  out  of 
charity  and  kindness  in  order  that  she  might  get  a  little 
accustomed  to  society — for,  of  course,  poor  creature !  en- 
tirely ignorant  and  uneducated  as  she  is,  everything  will 
seem  strange  to  her.  But  she  has  not  come : 

"  SIR  PHILIP  AND  LADY  BRUCE-ERRINGTON  1  "  announces 
Briggs  at  this  juncture. 

There  is  a  sudden  hush — a  movement  of  excitement, — 
and  the  groups  near  the  door  fall  apart  staring,  and  struck 
momentarily  dumb  with  surprise,  as  a  tall,  radiant  figure 
in  dazzling  white,  with  diamonds  flashing  on  a  glittering 
coil  of  gold  hair,  and  wondrous  sea-blue  earnest  eyes,  passes 
through  their  midst  with  that  royal  free  step  and  composed 
grace  of  bearing  that  might  distinguish  an  Empress  of 
many  nations. 

"  Good  heavens  !  What  a  magnificent  woman  !  "  mutters 
Beau  Lovelace — "  Yenus  realized  1 " 

Lady  Wiusleigh  turns  very  pale, — she  trembles  and  can 
scarcely  regain  her  usual  composure  as  Sir  Philip,  with  a 
proud  tenderness  lighting  up  the  depths  of  his  hazel  eyes, 
leads  this  vision  of  youth  and  perfect  loveliness  up  to  her, 
saying  simply — 

"  Lady  Winsleigh,  allow  me  to  introduce  to  you — my 
wife !  Thelma,  this  is  Lady  Winsleigh." 

There  is  a  strange  sensation  in  Lady  Winsleigh's  throat 
as  though  a  very  tight  string  were  suddenly  drawn  round 
it  to  almost  strangling  point — and  it  is  certain  that  she 
feels  as  though  she  must  scream,  hit  somebody  with  her 
fan,  and  rush  from  the  room  in  an  undignified  rage.  But 
she  chokes  back  these  purely  feminine  emotions — she  smiles 
and  extends  her  jewelled  hand. 

"  So  good  of  you  to  come  to-night !  "  she  says  sweetly. 
"  I  have  been  longing  to  see  you,  Lady  Errington  !  I  dare 
say  you  know  your  husband  is  quite  an  old  acquaintance  of 
mine !  " 

And  a  langourous  glance,  like  fire  seen  through  smoke, 
leaps  from  beneath  her  silky  eyelashes  at  Sir  Philip— but 
he  sees  it  not — he  is  chatting  and  laughing  gaily  with  Lor- 
imer  and  Beau  Lovelace. 

"  Indeed,  yes !  "  ansv/ci-i  TLclnm.  in  that  soft  low  voice 


•286  THELMA. 

of  hers,  which  had  such  a  thrilling  richness  within  it — "  and 
it  is  for  that  reason  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you.  It  is  al 
ways  pleasant  for  me  to  know  my  husband's  friends." 

Here  she  raises  those  marvellous,  innocent  eyes  of  hers 
and  smiles ; — why  does  Lady  Winsleigh  shrink  from  that 
frank  and  childlike  openness  of  regard  ?  Why  does  she, 
for  one  brief  moment,  hate  herself? — why  does  she  so  sud- 
denly feel  herself  to  be  vile  and  beneath  contempt  ?  God 
only  knows  ! — but  the  first  genuine  blush  that  has  tinged 
her  ladyship's  cheek  for  man}'  a  long  day,  suddenly  spreads 
a  hot  and  embarrassing  tide  of  crimson  over  the  polished 
pallor  of  her  satiny  skin,  and  she  says  hurriedly — 

"  I  must  find  you  some  people  to  talk  to.  This  is  my 
dear  friend,  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle — I  am  sure  you  will  like 
each  other.  Let  me  introduce  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  to  you — 
Mrs.  Van  Clupp,  and  Miss  Van  Clupp !  " 

The  ladies  bow  stiffly  while  Thelma  responds  to  their 
prim  salutation  with  easy  grace. 

"  Sir  Francis  Lennox" — continues  Lady  Winsleigh,  and 
there  is  something  like  a  sneer  in  her  smile,  as  that  gentle, 
man  makes  a  deep  and  courtly  reverence,  with  an  unmis- 
takable look  of  admiration  in  his  sleepy  tiger-brown  eyes, 
— then  she  turns  to  Lord  Winsleigh  and  adds  in  a  casual 
way,  "  My  husband !  "  Lord  Winsleigh  advances  rather 
eagerly — there  is  a  charm  in  the  exquisite  nobility  of 
Thelma's  face  that  touches  his  heart  and  appeals  to  the 
chivalrous  and  poetical  part  of  his  nature. 

"  Sir  Philip  and  I  have  known  each  other  for  some 
years,"  he  says,  pressing  her  little  fair  hand  cordially.  "  It 
is  a  great  pleasure  for  me  to  see  you  to-night,  Lady  Er- 
rington, — I  realize  how  very  much  my  friend  deserves  to  be 
congratulated  on  his  marriage  !  " 

Thelma  smiles.  This  little  speech  pleases  her,  but  she 
does  not  accept  the  compliment  implied  to  herself. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Lord  Winsleigh  " — she  answers;  "  I 
am  glad  indeed  that  you  like  Philip.  I  do  think  with  you 
that  he  deserves  every  one's  good  wishes.  It  is  my  great 
desire  to  make  him  always  happy." 

A  brief  shadow  crosses  Lord  Winsleigh's  thoughtful 
brow,  and  he  studies  he  r  sweet  eyes  attentively.  Is  she 
sincere?  Does  she  mean  what  she  says?  Or  is  she,  like 
others  of  her  sex,  merely  playing  a  graceful  part  ?  A 
slight  sigh  escapes  him, — absolute  truth,  innocent  love, 
and  stainless  purity  are  written  in  guch  &ir,  clear  lines  on 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  287 

that  perfect  countenance  that  the  mere  idea  of  questioning 
her  sincerity  seems  a  sacrilege. 

"  Your  desire  is  gratified,  I  am  sure,"  he  returns,  and  his 
voice  is  somewhat  sad.  "  I  never  saw  him  looking  so  well 
He  seems  in  excellent  spirits." 

"  Oh,  for  that !  "  and  she  laughs.  "  He  is  a  very  light- 
hearted  boy !  But  once  he  would  tell  me  very  dreadful 
things  about  the  world — how  it  was  not  at  all  worth  living 
in — tout  I  do  think  he  must  have  been  lonely.  For  he  is 
very  pleased  with  everything  now,  and  finds  no  fault  at 
all!" 

"  I  can  quite  understand  that ! "  and  Lord  Winsleigh 
smiles,  though  that  shadow  of  pain  still  rests  on  his  brow. 

Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  and  the  Van  Clupps  are  listening  to 
the  conversation  with  straining  ears.  What  strange  per- 
son is  this  ?  She  does  not  talk  bad  grammar,  though  her 
manner  of  expressing  herself  is  somewhat  quaint  and  for- 
eign. But  she  is  babyish — perfectly  babyish !  The  idea  of 
any  well-bred  woman  condescending  to  sing  the  praises  of 
her  own  husband  in  public!  Absurd!  "Deserves  every- 
one's good  wishes  !  " — pooh !  her  "  great  desire  is  to  make 
him  always  happy  1  " — what  utter  rubbish  ! — and  he  is  a 
"  light-hearted  boy  !  "  Good  gracious ! — what  next  ?  Mar- 
cia  Van  Clupp  is  strongly  inclined  to  giggle,  and  Mrs.  Van 
Clupp  is  indignantly  conscious  that  the  Errington  dia- 
monds far  surpass  her  own,  both  for  size  and  lustre. 

At  that  moment  Sir  Philip  approaches  his  wife,  with 
George  Lorimer  and  Beau  Lovelace.  Thelma's  smile  at 
Lorimer  is  the  greeting  of  an  old  friend — a  sun-bright 
glance  that  makes  his  heart  beat  a  little  quicker  than 
usual.  He  watches  her  as  she  turns  to  be  introduced  to 
Lovelace, — while  Miss  Tan  Clupp,  thinking  of  the  relent- 
less gift  of  satire  with  which  that  brilliant  writer  is  en- 
dowed, looks  out  for  "  some  fun  " — for,  as  she  confides  in  a 
low  tone  to  Mrs.  Marvelle — "  she'll  never  know  how  to  talk 
to  that  man  !  " 

u  Thelma,"  says  Sir  Philip,  "  this  is  the  celebrated 
author,  Beaufort  Lovelace, — you  have  often  heard  me  speak 
of  him." 

She  extends  both  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  deepen  and 
flash. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  one  of  those  great  men  whom  we  all  love 
and  admire ! "  she  says,  with  direct  frankness, — and  the 
pynical  Beau,  who  l}as  never  yet  received  so  sincere  ft  COW- 


288  THELMA. 

pliment,  feels  himself  coloring  like  a  school-girl.  "  I  am  so 
very  proud  to  meet  you !  I  have  read  your  wonderful 
book,  '  Azaziel,'  and  it  made  me  glad  and  sorry  together. 
For  why  do  you  draw  a  noble  example  and  yet  say  at  the 
same  time  that  it  is  impossible  to  follow  it  ?  Because  in 
one  breath  you  inspire  us  to  be  good,  and  yet  3-011  tell  us 
we  shall  never  become  so !  That  is  not  right, — is  it  ?  " 

Beau  meets  her  questioning  glance  with  a  grave  smile. 

"  It  is  most  likely  entirely  wrong  from  your  point  of 
view,  Lady  Errington,"  he  said.  "  Some  day  we  will  talk 
over  the  matter.  You  shall  show  me  the  error  of  my  ways. 
Perhaps  you  will  put  life,  and  the  troublesome  business  of 
living,  in  quite  a  new  light  for  me  I  You  see,  we  novelists 
have  an  unfortunate  trick  of  looking  at  the  worst  or  most 
ludicrous  side  of  everything — we  can't  help  it !  So  many 
apparently  lofty  and  pathetic  tragedies  turn  out,  on  close 
examination,  to  be  the  meanest  and  most  miserable  of 
farces, — it's  no  good  making  them  out  to  be  grand  Greek 
poems  when  they  are  only  base  doggerel  rhymes.  Be- 
sides, it's  the  fashion  nowadays  to  be  chiffonniers  in  liter- 
ature— to  pick  up  the  rags  of  life  and  sort  them  in  all  their 
uucomeliness  before  the  morbid  eyes  of  the  public.  What's 
the  use  of  spending  thought  and  care  on  the  manufacture 
of  a  jewelled  diadem,  and  offering  it  to  the  people  on  a  vel- 
vet cushion,  when  they  prefer  an  olla-podrida  of  cast-off 
clothing,  dried  bones  and  candle-ends  ?  In  brief,  what 
would  it  avail  to  write  as  grandly  as  Shakespeare  or  Scott, 
when  society  clamors  for  Zola  and  others  of  his  school  ?  " 

There  was  a  little  group  round  them  by  this  time, — men 
generally  collected  wherever  Beau  Lovelace  aired  his  opin- 
ions,— and  a  double  attraction  drew  them  together  now  in 
the  person  of  the  lovely  woman  to  whom  he  was  holding 
forth. 

Marcia  Van  Clupp  stared  mightily — surely  the  Norwegian 
peasant  would  not  understand  Beau's  similes, — for  they  were 
certainly  incomprehensible  to  Marcia.  As  for  his  last  re- 
mark— why  !  she  had  read  all  Zola's  novels  in  the  secrecy 
of  her  own  room,  and  had  gloated  over  them  ; — no  words 
could  describe  her  intense  admiration  of  books  that  were  so 
indelicately  realistic  !  "  He  is  jealous  of  other  writers,  I 
suppose,"  she  thought ;  "  these  literary  people  hate  each 
other  like  poison." 

Meanwhile  Thelma's  blue  eyes  looked  puzzled.  "  I  do 
not  know  that  name,"  she  said.  "  Zola !— what  is  he  ?  He 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  289 

cannot  be  great.  Shakeupeare  I  know, — he  is  the  glory  of 
the  world,  of  course ;  I  think  him  as  noble  as  Homer. 
Then  for  Walter  Scott — I  love  all  his  beautiful  stories — I 
have  read  them  many,  many  times,  nearly  as  often  as  I 
have  read  Homer  and  the  Norse  Sagas.  And  the  world 
must  surely  love  such  writings — or  how  should  they  last  so 
long  ?  "  She  laughed  and  shook  her  bright  heard  archly. 
"  Chiffonnier-!  Point  du  tout  I  Monsieur,  les  divines  pen- 
sets  que  vous  avez  donne  au  monde  ne  sont  pas  des  chif- 
fons." 

Beau  smiled  again,  and  offered  her  his  arm.  "  Let  me 
find  you  a  chair  !  "  he  said.  "  It  will  be  rather  a  difficult 
matter, — still  I  can  but  try.  You  will  be  fatigued  if  you 
stand  too  long."  And  he  moved  through  the  swaying 
crowd,  with  her  little  gloved  hand  resting  lightly  on  his 
coat-sleeve, — waile  Marcia  Van  Clupp  and  her  mother  ex- 
changed looks  of  wonder  and  dismay.  The  "  fisherwoman  " 
could  speak  French, — moreover,  she  could  speak  it  with  a 
wonderfully  soft  and  perfect  accent, — the  "  person  "  had 
studied  Homer  and  Shakespeare,  and  was  conversant  with 
the  best  literature, — and,  bitterest  sting  of  all,  the  "  peasant " 
could  give  every  wroman  in  the  room  a  lesson  in  deportment, 
grace,  and  perfect  taste  in  dress.  Every  costume  looked 
tawdy  beside  her  richly  flowing  velvet  draperies — every  low 
bodice  became  indecent  compared  with  the  modesty  of  that 
small  square  opening  at  Thelma's  white  throat — an  open- 
ing just  sufficient  to  display  her  collar  of  diamonds — and 
every  figure  seemed  either  dumpy  and  awkward,  too  big  or 
too  fat,  or  too  lean  and  too  lanky — when  brought  into  con- 
trast with  her  statuesque  outlines. 

The  die  was  cast, — the  authority  of  Beau  Lovelace  was 
nearly  suprem  in  fashionable  and  artistic  circles,  and  from 
the  moment  he  was  seen  devoting  his  attention  to  the  "  new 
beauty,"  excit  d  whispers  began  to  flit  from  mouth  to 
mouth, — "  She  will  be  the  rage  this  season  !  " — "  We  must 
ask  her  to  come  to  us  !  " — "I)o  ask  Lady  Winsleigh  to  in- 
troduce us  !  " — u  She  must  come  to  our  house !  "  and  so  on. 
And  Lady  Winsieigh  was  neither  blind  nor  deaf — she  saw 
and  heard  plainly  enough  that  her  reign  was  over,  and  in 
her  secret  soul  she  was  furious.  The  "  common  farmer's 
daughter  "  was  neither  vulgar  nor  uneducated — and  she 
was  surpassingly  lovely — even  Lady  Winsleigh  could  not 
deny  so  plain  and  absolute  a  fact.  But  her  ladyship  was  a 
womau  of  the  world,  and  §he  perceived  at  once  that  Thelwa 


390  THELMA. 

was  not.  Philip  had  married  a  creature  with  the  bodilj 
loveliness  of  a  goddess  and  the  innocent  soul  of  a  child — 
and  it  was  just  that  child-like,  pure  soul  looking  serenely 
out  of  Thelma's  eyes  that  had  brought  the  long-forgotten 
blush  of  shame  to  Clara  Winsleigh's  cheek.  But  that  feel- 
ing of  self-contempt  soon  passed — she  was  no  better  and  no 
worse  than  other  women  of  her  set,  she  thought — after  all, 
what  had  she  to  be  ashamed  of?  Nothing,  except — except 
— perhaps,  her  "  little  affair  "  with  "  Lennie."  A  new  emo- 
tion now  stirred  her  blood — one  of  malice  and  hatred, 
mingled  with  a  sense  of  outraged  love  and  ungratified  pas- 
sion— for  she  still  admired  Philip  to  a  foolish  excess.  Her 
dark  eyes  flashed  scornfully  as  she  noted  the  attitude  of  Sir 
Francis  Lennox, — he  was  leaning  against  the  marble  man- 
tel-piece, stroking  his  moustache  with  one  hand,  absorbed 
in  watching  Thelma,  who,  seated  in  an  easy  chair  which 
Beau  Lovelace  had  found  for  her,  was  talking  and  laughing 
gaily  with  those  immediately  around  her,  a  group  which 
increased  in  size  every  moment,  and  in  which  the  men  were 
most  predominant. 

"  Fool !  "  muttered  Lady  "Winsleigh  to  herself,  apostro- 
phizing "  Lennie "  in  this  uncomplimentary  manner. 
"  Fool !  I  wonder  if  he  thinks  I  care  !  He  may  play  hired 
lacquey  to  all  the  women  in  London  if  he  likes  1  He  looks 
a  prig  compared  to  Philip  ! " 

And  her  gaze  wandered, — Philip  was  standing  by  his 
wife,  engaged  in  an  animated  conversation  with  Lord 
Winsleigh.  They  were  all  near  the  grand  piano — and  La,dy 
Clara,  smoothing  her  vexed  brow,  swept  her  ruby  velvets 
gracefully  up  to  that  quarter  of  the  room.  Before  she 
could  speak,  the  celebrated  Herr  Machtenklinken  con- 
fronted her  with  some  sternness. 

"  Your  ladyshib  vill  do  me  ze  kindness  to  remember,"  he 
said,  loftily,  "  zat  I  am  here  to  blay  !  Zere  has  been  no 
obbortunity — ze  biano  could  not  make  itself  to  be  heard  in 
zis  fery  inoch  noise.  It  is  bossible  your  Iad3'shib  shall  re- 
quire not  ze  music  zis  efening  ?  In  zat  case  I  shall  take 
my  fery  goot  leave." 

Lady  Winsleigh  raised  her  eyes  with  much  supercilious- 
ness. 

u  As  you  please,"  she  said  coolly.  "  If  you  are  so  indif- 
ferent to  your  advantages — then  all  I  can  say  is,  so  am  I J 
You  are,  perhaps,  known  on  the  Cputiuentj  Herr  Machten- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  291 

klinken, — but  not  here — and  I  think  you  ought  to  be  more 
grateful  for  my  influence." 

So  saying,  she  passed  on,  leaving  the  luckless  pianist  in 
a  state  of  the  greatest  indignation. 

"  Gott  in  Himmel !  "  he  gasped,  in  a  sort  of  infuriated 
sotto  voce.  "  Ze  Emberor  himself  would  not  have  speak  to 
me  so !  I  come  here  as  a  favor — her  ladyshib  do  not  offer 
me  one  pfenning, — ach !  ze  music  is  not  for  such  beoble  ! 
I  shall  brefer  to  blay  to  bigs !  Zere  is  no  art  in  zis  coun- 
try!  " 

And  he  began  to  make  his  way  out  of  the  room,  when  he 
was  overtaken  by  Beau  Lovelace,  who  had  followed  him  in 
haste. 

"  Where  are  you  off  to,  Hermann  ? "  he  asked  good- 
naturedly.  "  We  want  }7ou  to  play.  There  is  a  lady  here 
who  heard  you  in  Paris  quite  recently — she  admires  you 
immensely.  Won't  you  come  and  be  introduced  to  her  ?  " 

Herr  Machtenklinken  paused,  and  a  smile  softened  his 
hitherto  angry  countenance. 

"  You  are  fery  goot,  Mr.  Lofelace,"  he  remarked — "  and  I 
would  do  moch  for  you — but  her  ladyshib  understands  me 
not — she  has  offend  me — it  is  better  I  should  take  my 
leave." 

"  Oh,  bother  her  ladyship  !  "  said  Beau  lightly.  "  Come 
along,  and  give  us  something  in  your  best  style." 

So  saying,  he  led  the  half-reluctant  artist  back  to  the 
•piano,  where  he  was  introduced  to  Thelma,  who  gave  him 
so  sweet  a  smile  that  he  was  fairly  dazzled. 

"  It  is  you  who  play  Schumann  so  beautifully,"  she  said. 
"  My  husband  and  I  heard  you  at  one  of  Lamoureux's  con- 
certs in  Paris.  I  fear,"  and  she  looked  wistfully  at  him, 
"  that  you  would  think  it  very  rude  and  selfish  of  me  if  I 
asked  you  to  play  just  one  little  piece  ?  Because,  of 
course,  you  are  here  to  enjoy  yourself,  and  talk  to  your 
friends,  and  it  seems  unkind  to  take  you  away  from 
them ! " 

A  strange  moisture  dimmed  the  poor  German's  ayes. 
This  was  the  first  time  in  England  that  the  "  celebrate " 
had  been  treated  as  a  friend  and  a  gentleman.  Up  to  this 
moment,  at  all  the  "  at  homes  "  and  "  assemblies,"  he  had 
not  been  considered  as  a  guest  at  all, — he  was  an  "  artist," 
"  a  good  pianist," — "  a  man  who  had  played  before  the  Em- 
peror of  Germany  " — and  he  was  expected  to  perform  for 
nothing,  and  be  grateful  for  the  "  influence  "  exercised  on 


292  THELMA. 

his  behalf — influence  which  as  yet  had  not  put  one  single 
extra  guinea  in  his  pocket.  Now,  here  was  a  great  lady 
almost  apologizing  for  asking  him  to  play,  lest  it  should 
take  him  away  from  his  "  friends  " !  His  heart  swelled 
with  emotion  and  gratitude — the  poor  fellow  had  no 
"  friends  "  in  London,  except  Beau  Lovelace,  who  was  kind 
to  him,  but  who  had  no  power  in  the  musical  world, — and 
as  Thelma's  gentle  voice  addressed  him,  he  could  have 
knelt  and  kissed  her  little  shoe  for  her  sweet  courtesy  and 
kindness. 

"  Miladi,"  he  said,  with  a  profound  reverence,  "  I  will 
blay  for  you  with  bleasure, — it  will  be  a  joy  for  zfe  music 
to  make  itself  beautiful  for  you  !  " 

And  with  this  fantastic  attempt  at  a  compliment,  he 
seated  himself  at  the  instrument  and  struck  a  crashing 
chord  to  command  silence. 

The  hum  of  conversation  grew  louder  than  ever — and  to 
Thelma's  surprise  Lady  Winsleigh  seated  herself  by  her 
and  began  to  converse.  Herr  Machtenklinken  struck  an- 
other chord, — in  vain !  The  deafening  lamor  of  tongues 
continued,  and  Lady  Winsleigh  asked  Thelma  with  much 
seeming  interest  if  the  scenery  was  very  romantic  in  Nor- 
way ? 

The  girl  colored  deeply,  and  after  a  little  hesitation,  said 

"  Excuse  me, — I  would  rather  not  speak  till  the  music  is 
over.  It  is  impossible  for  a  great  musician  to  think  his 
thoughts  out  properly  unless  there  is  silence.  Would  it 
not  be  better  to  ask  every  one  to  leave  off  talking  while 
this  gentleman  plays  ?  " 

Clara  Winsleigh  looked  amused.  "  My  dear,  you  don't 
know  them,"  she  said  carelessly.  "  They  would  think  me 
mad  to  propose  such  a  thing !  There  are  always  a  few  who 
listen." 

Once  more  the  pianist  poised  his  hands  over  the  keys  o? 
the  instrument, — Thelma  looked  a  little  troubled  and 
grieved.  Beau  Lovelace  saw  it,  and  acting  on  a  sudden 
impulse,  turned  towards  the  chattering  crowds,  and,  hold- 
ing up  his  hand,  called,  "  Silence,  please  !  " 

There  was  an  astonished  hush.  Beau  laughed.  "  We 
want  to  hear  some  music,"  he  said,  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness. "  Conversation  can  be  continued  afterwards."  He 
then  nodded  cheerfully  towards  Herr  Machtenklinken,  who, 
inspired  by  this  open  encouragement,  started  off  like  a  rage- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  293 

horse  into  one  of  the  exquisite  rambling  preludes  of 
Chopin.  Gradually,  as  he  played,  his  plain  face  took  upon 
itself  a  noble,  thoughtful,  rapt  expression, — his  wild  eyes 
softened, — his  furrowed,  frowning  brow  smoothed, — and, 
meeting  the  grave,  rare  blue  eyes  of  Thelma,  he  smiled. 
His  touch  grew  more  and  more  delicate  and  tender — from 
the  prelude  he  wandered  into  a  nocturne  of  plaintive  and 
exceeding  melancholy,  which  h  played  with  thrilling  and 
exquisite  pathos — anon,  he  glided  into  one  of  those  dream- 
ily joyous  yet  sorrowful  mazurkas,  that  remind  one  of 
bright  flowers  growing  in  wild  luxuriance  over  lonely  and 
forsaken  graves.  The  "  celebrate  "  had  reason  to  boast  of 
himself — he  was  a  perfect  master  of  the  instrument, — and 
as  his  fingers  closed  on  the  final  chord,  a  hearty  burst  of 
applause  rewarded  his  efforts,  led  by  Lovelace  and  Lorimer. 
He  responded  by  the  usual  bow, — but  his  real  gratitude 
was  all  for  Thelma.  For  her  he  had  played  his  best — and 
he  had  seen  tears  in  her  lovely  e}7es.  He  felt  as  proud  of 
her  appreciation  as  of  the  ring  he  had  received  from  the 
Tsar, — and  bent  low  over  the  fair  hand  she  extended  to 
him. 

"  You  must  be  very  happy,"  she  said,  "  to  feel  all  those 
lovely  sounds  in  your  heart  I  I  hope  I  shall  see  and  hear 
you  again  some  day, — I  thank  you  so  very  much  for  the 
pleasure  3^011  have  given  me !  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  said  nothing — and  she  listened  to 
Thelma's  words  with  a  sort  of  contempt. 

"  Is  the  girl  half-witted  ?  "  she  thought.  "  She  must  be. 
or  she  would  not  be  so  absurdly  enthusiastic  !  The  man 
plaj-s  well, — but  it  is  his  profession  to  play  well — it's  no  good 
praising  these  sort  of  people, — they  are  never  grateful,  and 
they  always  impose  upon  you/'  Aloud  she  asked  Sir 
Philip— 

"  Does  Lady  Errington  play  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  he  answered.     "  She  sings." 

At  once  there  was  a  chorus  of  inanely  polite  voices  round 
the  piano,  "  Oh,  do  sing,  Lady  Errington  !  Please,  give  us 
one  song  !  "  and  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  sauntering  up,  fixed 
his  languorous  gaze  on  Thelma's  face,  murmuring,  "  You 
will  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  refuse  us  such  delight  ?  " 

"  But,  of  course  not ! ''  answered  the  girl,  greatly  sur- 
prised at  all  these  unnecessary  entreaties.  "  I  am  always 
pleased  to  sing."  And  she  drew  off  her  long  loose  gloves 
and  seated  herself  at  the  piano  without  the  least  affectation 


294  THELMA. 

of  reluctance.  Then,  glancing  at  her  husband  with  a  bright 
smile,  she  asked,  "  What  song  do  you  think  will  be  best^ 
Philip  ?  » 

"  One  of  those  old  Norse  mountain-songs,"  he  answered. 

She  played  a  soft  minor  prelude — there  was  not  a  sound 
in  the  room  now — everybody  pressed  towards  the  piano, 
staring  with  a  curious  fascination  at  her  beautiful  face  and 
diamond-crowned  hair.  One  moment — and  her  voice,  in  all 
its  passionate,  glorious  fullness,  rang  out  with  a  fresh 
vibrating  tone  that  thrilled  to  the  very  heart — and  the 
foolish  crowd  that  gaped  and  listened  was  speechless, 
motionless,  astonished,  and  bewildered. 

A  Norse  mountain-song  was  it  ?  How  strange,  and 
grand,  and  wild  !  George  Lorimer  stood  apart — his  eyes 
ached  with  restrained  tears.  He  knew  the  melody  well — 
and  up  before  him  rose  the  dear  solemnity  of  the  Alten- 
guard  hills,  the  glittering  expanse  of  the  Fjord,  the  dear 
old  farmhouse  behind  its  cluster  of  pines.  Again  he  saw 
Thelma  as  he  had  seen  her  first — clad  in  her  plain  white 
gown,  spinning  in  the  dark  embrasure  of  the  rose-wreathed 
window — again  the  words  of  the  self-destroyed  Sigurd  came 
back  to  his  recollection,  "  Good  things  may  come  for  others 
• — but  for  you  the  heavens  are  empty  !  "  He  looked  at  her 
now, — Philip's  wife — in  all  the  splendor  of  her  rich  attire ; — 
she  was  lovelier  than  ever,  and  her  sweet  nature  was  as  yet 
unspoilt  by  all  the  wealth  and  luxury  around  her. 

"  Good  God  1  what  an  infeqno  she  has  come  into  1  "  he 
thought  vaguely.  "  How  will  she  stand  these  people  when 
she  gets  to  know  them?  The  Van  Clupps,  the  Rush- 
Marvelles,  and  others  like  them, — and  as  for  Clara  Wins- 

leigh "  He  turned  to  study  her  ladyship  attentively. 

She  was  sitting  quite  close  to  the  piano — her  eyes  were  cast 
down,  but  the  rubies  on  her  bosom  heaved  quickly  and  rest- 
lessly, and  she  furled  and  unfurled  her  fan  impatiently.  "  I 
shouldn't  wonder,"  he  went  on  meditating  gravely,  "  if  she 
doesn't  try  and  make  some  mischief  somehow.  She  looks 
it." 

At  that  moment  Thelma  ceased  singing,  and  the  room 
rang  with  applause.  Herr  Machtenklinken  was  overcome 
with  admiration. 

"  It  is  a  voice  of  heaven !  "  he  said  in  a  rapture. 

The  fair  singer  was  surrounded  with  people. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Clupp,with  her  usual  ill-bred 
eagerness  to  ingratiate  herself  with  the  titled  and  wealthy, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  295 

"  I  hope  you  will  come  and  see  me,  Lady  Errington?     I  am 
at  home  every  Friday  evening  to  my  friends." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Thelma,  simply.  "  But  I  am  not  your 
friend  yet !  When  we  do  know  each  other  better  I  will 
come.  We  shall  meet  each  other  many  times  first, — and 
then  you  will  see  if  you  like  me  to  be  your  friend.  Is  it 
not  so?" 

A  scarcely  concealed  smile  reflected  itself  on  the  faces  of 
;ill  who  heard  this  naive,  but  indefinite  acceptance  of  Mrs. 
Van  Clupp's  invitation,  while  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  herself  waa 
somewhat  mortified,  and  knew  not  what  to  answer.  This 
Norwegian  girl  was  evidently  quite  ignorant  of  the  usages 
of  polite  society,  or  she  would  at  once  have  recognized  the 
fact  that  an  "  at  home  "  had  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  with 
the  obligations  of  friendship — besides,  as  far  as  friendship 
was  concerned,  had  not  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  tabooed  several  of 
her  own  blood-relations  and  former  intimate  acquaintances  ? 
.  .  .  for  the  very  sensible  reason  that  while  she  had  grown 
richer,  they  had  grown  poorer.  But  now  Mrs.  Rush-Mar- 
velle  sailed  up  in  all  her  glory,  with  her  good-natured  smile 
and  matronly  air.  She  was  a  privileged  person,  and  she 
put  her  arm  round  Thelma's  waist. 

"  You  must  come  to  me,  my  dear,"  she  said  with  real 
kindness — her  motherly  heart  had  warmed  to  the  girl's 
beauty  and  innocence, — "  I  knew  Philip  when  he  was  quite 
a  boy.  He  will  tell  you  what  a  dreadfully  old  woman  I 
am  !  You  must  try  to  like  me  for  his  sake." 

Thelma  smiled  radiantly.  "  I  always  wish  to  like 
Philip's  friends,"  she  said  frankly.  "  I  do  hope  I  shall 
please  you  ! " 

A  pang  of  remorse  smote  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle's  heart  as 
she  remembered  how  loth  she  had  been  to  meet  Philip's 
"  peasant  "  wife, — she  hesitated, — then,  yielding  to  her  warm 
impulse,  drew  the  girl  closer  and  kissed  her  fair  rose-tinted 
cheek. 

"  You  please  everybody,  my  child,"  she  said  honestly. 
'  Philip  is  a  lucky  man !  Now  I'll  say  good  night,  for  it  is 
getting  late, — I'll  write  to  you  to-morrow  and  fix  a  day  for 
you  to  come  and  lunch  with  me." 

"  But  you  must  also  come  and  see  Philip,"  returned 
Thelma,  pressing  her  hand. 

"  So  I  will — so  I  will !  "  and  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  nodded 
beamingly,  and  made  her  way  up  to  Lady  Winsleigh,  say- 


296  THELMA. 

ing,  "  Bye-bye,  Clara  !     Thanks  for  a  most  charming  even- 
ing I  " 

Clara  pouted.  "  Going  already,  Mimsey  ?  "  she  queried, 
— then,  in  a  lower  tone,  she  said,  u  Well !  what  do  you  think 
of  her  ?  " 

"  A  beautiful  child — no  more  1  "  answered  Mrs.  Marvelle, 
— then,  studying  with  some  gravity  the  brilliant  brunette 
face  before  her,  she  added  in  a  whisper,  "  Leave  her  alone, 
Clara, — don't  make  her  miserable !  You  know  what  I 
mean !  It  wouldn't  take  much  to  break  her  heart." 

Clara  laughed  harshly  and  played  w4th  her  fan. 

"  Dear  me,  Mimsey  1  ...  you  are  perfectly  outrageous ! 
Do  you  think  I'm  an  ogress  ready  to  eat  her  up  ?  On  the 
contrary,  I  mean  to  be  a  friend  to  her." 

Mrs.  Marvelle  still  looked  grave. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said ;  "  only  some  friends  are 
worse  than  declared  enemies." 

Lady  Winsleigh  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Go  along,  Mimsey, — go  home  to  bed !  "  she  exclaimed 
impatiently.  "  You  are  intense  !  I  hate  sentimental  phil- 
osophy and  copy-book  platitudes  1  "  She  latighed  again 
and  folded  her  hands  with  an  air  of  mock  penitence, "  There  I 
I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude  !  Good-night,  dear  old  darling !  " 

"  Good-night,  Clara ! "  and  Mrs.  Marvelle,  summoning 
her  timid  husband  from  some  far  corner,  where  he  had  re- 
mained in  hiding,  took  her  departure  with  much  stateliness. 

A  great  many  people  were  going  down  to  supper  by  this 
time,  but  Sir  Philip  was  tired  of  the  heat  and  glare  and 
noise,  and  whispered  as  much  to  Thelma,  who  at  once  ad- 
vanced to  bid  her  hostess  farewell. 

"  Won't  you  have  some  supper  ?  "  inquired  her  ladvship. 
"  Don't  go  yet !  " 

But  Thelma  was  determined  not  to  detain  her  husband  a 
moment  longer  than  he  wished — so  Lady  Winsleigh,  seeing 
remonstrances  were  of  no  avail,  bade  them  both  an  effusive 
good-night. 

"  We  must  see  a  great  deal  of  each  other  !  "  she  said, 
pressing  Thelma's  hands  warmly  in  her  own  :  "  I  hope  we 
shall  be  quite  dear  friends !  " 

"  Thank  jrou  !  "  said  Thelma,  "  I  do  hope  so  too,  if  3*011 
wish  it  so  much.  Good-night,  Lord  Winsleigh  !  " 

"  Let  me  escort  you  to  your  carriage,"  said  her  noble  host, 
at  once  offering  her  his  arm. 

"  And  allow  me  to  follow,"  added  Beau  Lovelace,  slip- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  2S7 

ping  his  arm  through  Errington's,  to  whom  he  whispered, 
u  How  dare  you,  sir  1  How  dare  you  be  such  a  provokingly 
happy  man  in  this  miserable  old  world?"  Errington 
laughed — and  the  little  group  had  just  reached  the  door  oi 
the  drawing-room  when  Thelma  suddenly  turned  with  a  look 
of  inquiry  in  her  eyes. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Lorimer?"  she  said.  "  I  have  forgotten 
to  say  good-night  to  him,  Philip." 

"Here  I  am,  Lady  Errington,"  and  Lorimer  sauntered 
forward  with  rather  a  forced  smile, — a  smile  which  alto- 
gether vanished,  leaving  his  face  strangely  pale,  as  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  said  laughingly — 

"  You  bad  Mr.  Lorimer !  Where  were  you  ?  You  know 
it  would  make  me  quite  unhappy  not  to  wish  you  good- 
night. Ah,  you  are  a  very  naughty  brother !  " 

"  Come  home  with  us,  George,"  said  Sir  Philip  eagerly. 
"  Do,  there's  a  good  fellow ! " 

'"  I  can't,  Phil  1 "  answered  Lorimer,  almost  pathetically. 
"  I  can't  to-night— indeed,  I  can't !  Don't  ask  me ! "  And  he 
wrung  his  friend's  hand  hard, — and  then  bravely  met 
Thelma's  bright  glance. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  said  to  her.  "  I  know  I  ought  to  have 
presented  myself  before — I'm  a  dreadfully  lazy  fellow,  you 
know !  Good-night !  " 

Thelma  regarded  him  steadfastly. 

"  You  look, — what  is  it  jrou  call  yourself  sometimes — 
seecfy?"  she  observed.  "  Not  well  at  all.  Mind  you  come* 
to  us  to  morrow  I " 

He  promised — and  then  accompanied  them  down  to  their 
carriage — he  and  Beau  Lovelace  assisting  to  cover  Thelma 
with  her  fur  cloak,  and  being  the  last  to  shake  hands  with 
Sir  Philip  as  he  sprang  in  beside  his  wife,  and  called  to  the 
coachman  "Home!"  The  magic  word  seemed  to  effect  the 
horses,  for  they  started  at  a  brisk  trot,  and  within  a  couple 
of  minutes  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight.  It  was  a  warm 
star-lit  evening, — and  as  Lorimer  and  Lovelace  re-entered 
Winsleigh  House,  Beau  stole  a  side-glance  at  his  silent 
companion. 

"A  plucky  fellow!"  he  mused;  "I  should  say  he'd  die 
game.  Tortures  won't  wring  his  secret  out  of  him."  Aloud 
he  said,  "  I  say,  haven't  we  had  enough  of  this?  Don't  let 
us  sup  here — nothing  but  unsubstantial  pastry  and  claret- 
cup — the  latter  abominable  mixture  would  kill  me.  Coine 
on  to  the  Club,  will  you?" 


298  THELMA. 

Lorimer  gladly  assented — they  got  their  over-coats  from 
the  officious  Briggs,  tipped  him  handsomely,  and  departed 
arm  in  arm.  The  last  glimpse  they  caught  of  the  Winsleigh 
festivities  was  Marcia  Van  Clupp  sitting  on  the  stairs,  pol- 
ishing off  with  much  gusto  the  wing  and  half-breast  of  a 
capon, — while  the  mild  Lord  Masherville  stood  on  the  step 
just  above  her,  consoling  his  appetite  with  a  spoonful  of 
tepid  yellow  jelly.  He  had  not  been  able  to  secure  any 
capon  *br  himself — he  had  been  frightened  away  by  the 
warning  cry  of  "  Ladies  first !  "  shouted  forth  by  a  fat  gen- 
tleman, who  was  on  guard  at  the  head  of  the  supper-table, 
and  who  had  already  secreted  five  plates  of  different  edibles 
for  his  own  consumption,  in  a  neat  corner  behind  the  win- 
dow-curtains. Meanwhile,  Sir  Philip  Bruce-Errington, 
proud,  happy,  and  triumphant,  drew  his  wife  into  a  close 
embrace  as  they  drove  home  together,  and  said,  "  You  were 
the  queen  of  the  evening,  my  Thelma !  Have  you  enjoyed 
yourself?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  call  that  enjoyment !  "  she  declared.  "  How 
is  it  possible  to  enjoy  anything  among  so  many  strangers  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  laughingly. 

She  laughed  also.  "  I  do  not  know  indeed  what  it  is  1 " 
she  said.  "  I  have  never  been  to  anything  like  it  before. 
It  did  seem  to  me  as  if  all  the  people  were  on  show  for  some 
reason  or  other.  And  the  gentlemen  did  look  very  tired — 
there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do.  Even  you,  my  boy ! 
You  made  several  very  big  yawns !  Did  you  know  that  ?  " 

Philip  laughed  more  than  ever.  "  I  didn't  know  it,  my 
pet !  "  he  answered ;  "  but  I'm  not  surprised.  Big  yawns 
are  the  invariable  result  of  an  '  at  home.'  Do  you  like  Beau 
Lovelace  ?  " 

"  Very  much,"  she  answered  readily.  "  But,  Philip,  I 
should  not  like  to  have  so  many  friends  as  Lady  Winsleigh. 
I  thought  friends  were  rare  ? " 

"  So  they  are !  She  doesn't  care  for  these  people  a  bit. 
They  are  mere  acquaintances." 

"  Whom  does  she  care  for  then  ?  "  asked  Thelma  suddenly. 
"  Of  course  I  mean  after  her  husband.  Naturally  she  loves 
him  best." 

"  Naturally,"  and  Philip  paused,  adding,  "  she  has  her 
son — Ernest — he  s  a  fine  bright  boy — he  was  not  there  to- 
night. You  must  see  him  some  day.  Then  I  think  her 
favorite  friend  is  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelie," 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  299 

"  I  do  like  that  lady  too,"  said  Thelma.  "  She  spoke  very 
kindly  to  me  and  kissed  me." 

"  Did  she  really  !  "  and  Philip  smiled.  "  I  think  she  was 
more  to  be  congratulated  on  taking  the  kiss  than  you  in  re- 
ceiving it !  But  she's  not  a  bad  old  soul, — only  a  little  too 
fond  of  money.  But,  Thelma,  whom  do  you  care  for  most  ? 
You  did  tell  me  once,  but  I  forget !  " 

She  turned  her  lovely  face  and  star-like  eyes  upon  him, 
and,  meeting  his  laughing  look,  she  smiled. 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you  I  "  she  murmured  softly.  "  I 
do  think  you  will  never  tire  of  hearing  !  You  know  that  it 
is  you  for  whom  I  care  most,  and  that  all  the  world  would 
be  empty  to  me  without  you  !  Oh,  my  husband — my  dar- 
ling 1  do  not  make  me  try  to  tell  you  how  much  I  love  you  ! 
I  cannot — my  heart  is  too  full !  " 

The  rest  of  their  drive  homeward  was  very  quiet — there 
are  times  when  silence  is  more  eloquent  than  speech. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  A  small  cloud,  so  slight  as  to  be  a  mere  speck  ou  the  fair  blue 
sky,  was  all  the  warning  we  received." — PLINY. 

AFTER  that  evening  great  changes  came  into  Thelma's 
before  peaceful  life.  She  had  conquered  her  enemies,  or  so 
it  seemed, — society  threw  down  all  its  barricades  and  rushed 
to  meet  her  with  open  arms.  Invitations  crowded  upon  her, 
— often  she  grew  tired  and  bewildered  in  the  multiplicity  of 
them  all.  London  life  wearied  her, — she  preferred  the  em- 
bowered seclusion  of  Errington  Manor,  the  dear  old  house 
in  green-wooded  Warwickshire.  But  the  "  season  "  claimed 
her, — its  frothy  gaieties  were  deemed  incomplete  without 
her — no  "  at  home  "  was  considered  quite  "  the  "  thing  un- 
less she  was  present.  She  became  the  centre  of  a  large  and 
ever-widening  social  circle, — painters,  poets,  novelists,  wits, 
savants,  and  celebrities  of  high  distinction  crowded  her 
rooms,  striving  to  entertain  her  as  well  as  themselves  with 
that  inane  small  talk  and  gossip  too  often  practiced  by  the 
wisest  among  us, — and  thus  surrounded,  she  began  to  learn 
many  puzzling  and  painful  things  of  which  in  her  old  Nor- 
wegian life,  she  had  been  happily  ignorant. 

For  instance,  she  had  once  imagined  that  all  the  men  and 
women  of  culture  who  followed  the  higher  professions  must 
perforce  be  a  sort  of  "  Joyous  Fraternity,"  superior  to 


300  THELMA. 

other  mortals  not  so  gifted, — and,  under  this  erroneous  im- 
pression, she  was  at  first  eager  to  know  some  of  the  so- 
called  "  great  "  people  who  had  distinguished  themselves  in 
literature  or  the  fine  arts.  She  had  fancied  that  they  must 
of  necessity  be  all  refined,  sympathetic,  large-hearted,  and 
noble-minded — alas  !  how  grievously  was  she  disappointed  1 
She  found,  to  her  sorrow,  that  the  tree  of  modem  Art  bore 
but  few  wholesome  roses  and  many  cankered  buds — that  the 
"  Joyous  Fraternity  "  were  not  joyous  at  all — but,  on  the 
contrary,  inclined  to  dyspepsia  and  discontentment.  She 
found  that  even  poets,  whom  she  had  fondly  deemed  were 
the  angel-guides  among  the  children  of  this  earth, — were 
most  of  them  painfully  conceited,  selfish  in  aim  and  limited 
in  thought, — moreover,  that  they  were  often  so  empty  of  all 
true  inspiration,  that  they  were  actually  able  to  hate  and 
envy  one  another  with  a  sort  of  womanish  spite  and  temper, 
— that  novelists,  professing  to  be  in  sympathy  with  the 
heart  of  humanity,  were  no  sooner  brought  into  contact 
one  with  another,  than  they  plainly  showed  by  look,  voice, 
and  manner,  the  contempt  they  entertained  for  each  other's 
work, — that  men  of  science  were  never  so  happy  as  when 
trying  to  upset  each  other's  theories  ; — that  men  of  religious 
combativeness  were  always  on  the  alert  to  destroy  each 
other's  creeds, — and  that,  in  short,  there  was  a  very  general 
tendency  to  mean  jealousies,  miserable  heart-burnings  and 
utter  weariness  all  round. 

On  one  occasion,  she,  in  the  sweetest  simplicity,  invited 
two  lady  authoresses  of  note  to  meet  at  one  of  her  "  at 
homes,"  .  .  .  she  welcomed  both  the  masculine-looking 
ladies  with  a  radiant  smile,  and  introduced  them,  saying 
gently, — "  You  will  be  so  pleased  to  know  each  other !  " 
But  the  stony  stare,  stiff  nod,  portentous  sniff,  and  scornful 
smile  with  which  these  two  eminent  females  exchanged  cold 
greetings,  were  enough  to  daunt  the  most  sympathetic 
hostess  that  ever  lived — and  when  they  at  once  retired  to 
different  corners  of  the  room  and  sat  apart  with  their  backs 
turned  to  one  another  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening, 
their  attitude  was  so  uncompromising  that  it  was  no  wonder 
the  gentle  Thelma  felt  quite  dismayed  and  wretched  at  the 
utter  failure  of  the  rencontre. 

"  They  would  not  be  sociable  !  "  she  afterwards  complained 
to  Lady  Winsleigh.  "  They  tried  to  be  as  rude  to  each 
other  as  they  could !  " 

Lady    Winsleigh    laughed.     ''  Of   course  I "    she    said. 


THE  LAKD  OF  MOCKERY.  301 

"  What  else  did  you  expect !  But  if  you  want  some  fun, 
ask  a  young,  pretty,  and  brilliant  authoress  (there  are  a  few 
such)  to  meet  an  old,  ugly  and  dowdy  one  (and  there  are 
many  such),  and  watch  the  dowdy  one's  face  !  It  will  be  a 
delicious  study  of  expression,  I  assure  you !  " 

But  Thelma  would  not  try  this  delicate  experiment, — in 
fact,  she  began  rather  to  avoid  literary  people,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Beau  Lovelace.  His  was  a  genial,  sympathetic 
nature,  and,  moreover,  he  had  a  winning  charm  of  manner 
which  few  could  resist.  He  was  not  a  bookworm, — he  was 
not,  strictly  speaking,  a  literary  man, — and  he  was  entirely 
indifferent  to  public  praise  or  blame.  He  was,  as  he  him- 
self expressed  it,  "  a  servant  and  worshipper  of  literature," 
and  there  is  a  wide  gulf  of  difference  between  one  who 
serves  literature  for  its  own  sake  and  one  who  uses  it  basely 
as  a  tool  to  serve  himself. 

But  in  all  her  new  and  varied  experiences,  perhaps  Thel- 
ma was  most  completely  bewildered  by  the  women  she  met. 
Her  simple  Norse  beliefs  in  the  purity  and  gentleness  of 
womanhood  were  startled  and  outraged, — she  could  not  un- 
derstand London  ladies  at  all.  Some  of  them  seemed  to 
have  no  idea  beyond  dress  and  show, — others  looked  upon 
their  husbands,  the  lawful  protectors  of  their  name  and 
fame,  with  easy  indifference,  as  though  they  were  mere  bits 
of  household  furniture, — others,  having  nothing  better  to 
do,  "  went  in  "  for  spiritualism, — the  low  spiritualism  that 
manifests  itself  in  the  turning  of  tables  and  moving  of  side- 
boards— not  the  higher  spiritualism  of  an  improved,  per- 
fected, and  saint-like  way  of  life — and  these  argued  wildly 
on  the  theory  of  matter  passing  through  matter,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  declaring  themselves  able  to  send  a  letter  or  box 
through  the  wall  without  making  a  hole  in  it, — and  this 
with  such  obstinate  gravity  as  made  Thelma  fear  for  their 
reason.  Then  there  were  the  women-atheists, — creatures 
who  had  voluntarily  crushed  all  the  sweetness  of  the  sex 
within  them — foolish  human  flowers  without  fragrance,  that 
persistently  turned  away  their  faces  from  the  sunlight  and 
denied  its  existence,  preferring  to  wither,  profitless,  on  the 
dry  stalk  of  their  own  theory ; — there  were  the  "  platform- 
women,"  unnatural  products  of  an  unnatural  age, — there 
were  the  great  ladies  of  the  aristocracy  who  turned  with 
scorn  from  a  case  of  real  necessity,  and  yet  spent  hundreds 
of  pounds  on  private  theatricals  wherein  they  might  have 
the  chance  of  displaying  themselves  in  extravagant  cos- 


302  THELMA. 

tumes, — and  there  were  the  "  professional  "  beauties,  who, 
if  s  ddenly  deprived  of  elegant  attire  and  face-cosmetics, 
turned  out  to  be  no  beauties  at  all,  but  very  ordinary,  unin- 
telligent persons. 

"  What  is  the  exact  meaning  of  the  term, '  professional 
beauty  '  ?  "  Thelma  had  asked  Beau  Lovelace  on  one  occa- 
sion. "  I  suppose  it  is  some  very  poor  beautiful  woman 
who  takes  money  for  showing  herself  to  the  public,  and 
having  her  portraits  sold  in  the  shops  ?  And  who  is  it  that 
pays  her  ?  " 

Lovelace  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  Upon  my  word,  Lady 
Errington, — you  have  put  the  matter  in  a  most  original  but 
indubitably  correct  light !  Who  pays  the  '  professional 
beauty,'  you  ask  ?  Well,  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Smith-Gres- 
ham,  whom  you  met  the  other  day,  it  is  a  certain  Duke  who 
pays  her  to  the  tune  of  several  thousands  a  year.  When 
he  gets  tired  of  her,  or  she  of  him,  she'll  find  somebody 
else — or  perhaps  she'll  go  on  the  stage  and  swell  the  list  of 
bad  amateurs.  She'll  get  on  somehow,  as  long  as  she  can 
find  a  fool  ready  to  settle  her  dressmaker's  bill." 

"  I  do  not  understand  !  "  said  Thelma, — and  her  fair  brows 
drew  together  in  that  pained  grave  look  that  was  becoming 
rather  frequent  with  her  now. 

And  she  began  to  ask  fewer  questions  concerning  the 
various  strange  phases  of  social  life  that  puzzled  her, — why, 
for  instance,  religious  theorists  made  so  little  practical  use 
of  their  theories, — why  there  were  cloudy-eyed  eccentrics 
who  admired  the  faulty  drawing  of  Watts,  and  the  common- 
place sentence-writing  of  Walt  Whitman, — why  members 
of  Parliament  talked  so  much  and  did  so  little, — why  new 
poets,  however  nobly  inspired,  were  never  accepted  unless 
they  had  influential  friends  on  the  press, — why  painters  al- 
ways married  heir  models  or  their  cooks,  and  got  heartily 
ashamed  of  them  afterwards, — and  why  people  all  round 
said  so  many  things  they  did  not  mean.  And  confused  by 
the  general  insincerity,  she  clung, — poor  child  ! — to  Lady 
Winsleigh,  who  had  the  tact  to  seem  what  she  was  not, — 
and  the  cleverness  to  probe  into  Thelma's  nature  and  find 
out  how  translucently  clear  and  pure  it  was — a  perfect  well 
of  sweet  water,  into  which  one  drop  of  poison,  or  better 
still,  several  drops,  gradually  and  insidiously  instilled, 
might  in  time  taint  its  flavor  and  darken  its  brightness. 
For  if  a  woman  have  an  innocent,  unsuspecting  soul  as  del- 
icate as  the  curled  cup  of  a  Nile  lily,  the  more  easily  will  it 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  303 

droop  and  wither  in  the  heated  grasp  of  a  careless,  cruel 
hand.  And  to  this  flower-crushing  task  Lady  Winsleigh 
set  herself, — partly  for  malice  pretense  against  Errington, 
whose  coldness  to  herself  in  past  days  had  wounded  her 
vanity,  and  partly  for  private  jealousy  of  Thelma's  beauty 
and  attractiveness. 

Within  a  short  time  she  had  completely  won  the  girl's 
confidence  and  affection, — Sir  Philip,  forgetting  his  former 
suspicions  of  her,  was  touched  and  disarmed  by  the  attach- 
ment and  admiration  she  openly  displayed  towards  his 
young  wife, — she  and  Thelma  were  constantly  seen  to- 
gether, and  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle,  far-sighted  as  she  gener- 
ally was,  often  sighed  doubtfully  and  rubbed  her  nose  in 
perplexity  as  she  confessed  she  "  couldn't  quite  understand 
Clara."  But  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  had  her  hands  full  of  other 
matters, — she  was  aiding  and  abetting  Marcia  Van  Clupp  to 
set  traps  for  that  mild  mouse  Lord  Masherville, — and  she 
was  too  much  absorbed  in  this  difficult  and  delicate  business 
to  attend  to  anything  else  just  then.  Otherwise,  it  is  pos- 
sible she  might  have  scented  danger  for  Thelma's  peace  of 
mind,  and  being  good-natured,  might  have  warded  it  off  be- 
fore it  approached  too  closely, — but,  like  policeman  who 
are  never  within  call  when  wanted,  so  friends  are  seldom  at 
hand  when  their  influence  might  be  of  real  benefit. 

The  Tan  Clupps  were  people  Thelma  could  not  get  on 
with  at  all — she  tried  to  do  so  because  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle 
had  assured  her  they  were  "  charming  " — and  she  liked  Mrs. 
Marvelle  sufficiently  well  to  be  willing  to  please  her.  But, 
in  truth,  these  rich  and  vulgar  Yankees  seemed  to  her  mind 
less  to  be  esteemed  than  the  peasants  of  the  Altenfjord,  who 
in  many  instances  possessed  finer  tact  and  breeding  than 
old  Van  Clupp,  the  man  of  many  dollars,  whose  father  had 
been  nothing  but  a  low  navvy,  but  of  whom  he  spoke  now 
with  smirking  pride  as  a  real  descendant  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers.  An  odd  thing  it  is,  by  the  way,  how  fond  some 
Americans  are  of  tracing  back  their  ancestry  to  these  virtu- 
ous old  gentlemen!  The  Van  Clupps  were  of  course  not 
the  best  types  of  their  country — they  were  of  that  class 
who,  because  they  have  money,  measure  everything  by  the 
money-standard,  and  hold  even  a  noble  poverty  in  utter 
contempt.  Poor  Van  Clupp  !  K  was  sometimes  pitiable  to 
see  him  trying  to  be  a  gentleman — "  going  in  "  for  "  style  " 
— to  an  excess  thai,  was  ludicrous, — cramming  his  hp'i-?e 
with  expensive  furniture  like  an  upholsterer's  show-room,— 


304  THELMA. 

drinking  his  tea  out  of  pure  Sevres,  with  a  lofty  ignorance 
of  its  beauty  and  value, — dressing  his  wife  and  daughter 
like  shilling  fashion-plates,  and  having  his  portrait  taken 
in  precisely  the  same  attitude  as  that  assumed  by  the  Duke 
of  Wrigglesbury  when  his  Grace  sat  to  the  same  photog- 
rapher 1  It  was  delicious  to  hear  him  bragging  of  his  pil- 
grim ancestor, — while  in  the  same  breath  he  would  blandly 
sneer  at  certain  "  poor  gentry  "  who  could  trace  back  their 
lineage  to  Cceur  de  Lion !  But  because  the  Erringtons 
were  rich  as  well  as  titled  persons,  Van  Clupp  and  his  be- 
longings bent  the  servile  knee  before  them,  flattering 
Thelma  with  that  ill-judged  eagerness  and  zealous  persist- 
ency which  distinguish  inborn  vulgarity,  and  which,  far 
from  pleasing  her,  annoyed  and  embarrassed  her  because 
she  could  not  respond  sincerely  to  such  attentions. 

There  were  many  others  too,  not  dollar-crusted  Ameri- 
cans, whose  excessive  adulation  and  ceaseless  compliment 
vexed  the  sincere,  frank  spirit  of  the  girl, — a  spirit  fresh 
and  pure  as  the  wind  blowing  over  her  own  Norse  moun- 
tains. One  of  these  was  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  that  fashion- 
able young  man  of  leisure, — and  she  had  for  him  an  instinc- 
tive, though  quite  unreasonable  aversion.  He  was  courtesy 
itself — he  spared  no  pains  to  please  her.  Yet  she  felt  as  if 
his  basflisk  brown  eyes  were  always  upon  her, — he  seemed 
to  be  ever  at  hand,  ready  to  watch  over  her  in  trifles,  such 
as  the  passing  of  a  cup  of  tea,  the  offering  of  her  wrap, — the 
finding  of  a  chair, — the  holding  of  a  fan, — he  was  alwaj'S  on 
the  alert,  like  a  remarkably  well-trained  upper  servant. 
She  could  not,  without  rudeness,  reject  such  unobtrusive, 
humble  services, — and  yet — they  rendered  her  uncomfort- 
able, though  she  did  not  quite  know  why.  She  ventured  to 
mention  her  feeling  concerning  him  to  her  friend  Lacty 
Winsleigh,  who  heard  her  timid  remarks  with  a  look  on  her 
face  that  was  not  quite  pleasant. 

"  Poor  Sir  Francis  I  "  her  ladyship  said  with  a  slight, 
mocking  laugh.  "  He's  never  happy  unless  he  plaj's  puppy- 
dog  !  Don't  mind  him,  Thelma  !  He  won't  bite,  I  assure 
you, — he  means  no  harm.  It's  only  his  little  way  of  mak- 
ing himself  agreeable !  " 

George  Lorimer,  during  this  particular  "  London  sea- 
son," fled  the  field  of  action,  and  went  to  Paris  to  stay  with 
Pierre  Duprez.  He  felt  that  it  was  dangerous  to  confront 
the  fair  enemy  too  often,  for  he  knew  in  his  own  honest 
heart  that  his  passion  for  Thelma  increased  each  time  ha 


1HE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  305 

saw  her — so,  he  avoided  her.  She  missed  him  very  much 
from  her  circle  of  intimates,  and  often  went  to  see  his 
mother,  Mrs.  Lorimer,  one  of  the  sweetest  old  ladies  in  the 
world,— who  had  at  once  guessed  her  son's  secret,  but,  like 
a  prudent  dame,  kept  it  to  herself.  There  were  few  young 
women  as  pretty  and  charming  as  old  Mrs.  Lorimer,  with 
her  snow-white  parted  hair  and  mild  blue  eyes,  and  voice  as 
cheery  as  the  note  of  a  thrush  in  spring-time.  After 
Lady  Winsleigh,  Thelma  liked  her  best  of  all  her  new 
friends,  and  was  fond  of  visiting  her  quiet  little  house  in 
Kensington, — for  it  was  very  quiet,  and  seemed  like  a 
sheltered  haven  of  rest  from  the  great  rush  of  frivolity  and 
folly  in  which  the  fashionable  world  delighted. 

And  Thelma  was  often  now  in  need  of  rest.  As  the  sea- 
son drew  towards  its  close,  she  found  herself  strangely  tired 
and  dispirited.  The  life  she  was  compelled  to  lead  was  all 
unsuited  to  her  nature — it  was  artificial  and  constrained, — 
and  she  was  often  unhappy.  Why  ?  Why,  indeed  1  She 
did  her  best, — but  she  made  enemies  everywhere.  Again, 
why  ?  Because  she  had  a  most  pernicious, — most  unpleas- 
ant habit  of  telling  the  truth.  Like  Socrates,  she  seemed 
to  say — "  If  any  man  should  appear  to  me  not  to  possess 
virtue,  but  to  pretend  that  he  does,  1  shall  reproach  him." 
This  she  expressed  silently  in  face,  voice,  and  manner, — and, 
like  Socrates,  she  might  have  added  that  she  went  about 
"  perceiving,  indeed,  and  grieving  and  alarmed  that  she  was 
making  herself  odious."  For  she  discovered,  by  degrees, 
that  many  people  looked  strangely  upon  her — that  others 
seemed  afraid  of  her — and  she  continually  heard  that  she 
was  considered  "  eccentric."  So  she  became  more  reserved 
— even  cold, — she  was  content  to  let  others  argue  about 
trifles,  and  air  their  whims  and  follies  without  offering  an 
opinion  on  any  side. 

And  by-and-by  the  first  shadow  began  to  sweep  over  the 
fairness  of  her  married  life.  It  happened  at  a  time  when 
she  and  her  husband  were  not  quite  so  much  together, — so- 
ciety and  its  various  claims  had  naturally  separated  them  a 
little,  but  now  a  question  of  political  ambition  separated 
them  still  more.  Some  well-intentioned  friends  had  per- 
suaded Sir  Philip  to  stand  for  Parliament — and  this  idea  no. 
sooner  entered  his  head,  than  he  decided  with  impulsive 
ardor  that  he  had  been  too  long  without  a  "  career," — and  a 
"  career  "  he  must  have  in  order  to  win  distinction  for  his 
wife's  sake.  Therefore,  summoning  his  secretary,  Neville, 

90 


306  THELMA. 

to  his  aid,  he  plunged  headlong  into  the  seething,  turgid 
waters  of  English  politics,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  li- 
brary day  after  clay,  studying  blue-books,  writing  and  an- 
swering letters,  and  drawing  up  addresses, — and  with  the 
general  proneness  of  the  masculine  mind  to  attend  to  one 
thing  only  at  a  time,  he  grew  so  absorbed  in  his  work  that 
his  love  for  Thelma,  though  all  unchanged  and  deep  as  ever, 
fell  slightly  into  the  background  of  his  thoughts.  Not  that 
he  neglected  her, — he  simply  concerned  himself  more  with 
other  things.  So  it  happened  that  a  certain  indefinable 
sense  of  loss  weighed  upon  her, — a  vague,  uiicomprehended 
solitude  began  to  encompass  her, — a  solitude  even  more 
keenly  felt  when  she  was  surrounded  by  friends  than  when 
she  was  quite  alone, — and  as  the  sweet  English  June  drew 
to  its  end,  she  grew  languid  and  listless,  and  her  blue  eyes 
often  filled  with  sudden  tears.  Her  little  watch-dog,  Britta, 
began  to  notice  this,  and  to  wonder  concerning  the  reason 
of  her  mistress's  altered  looks. 

"  It  is  this  dreadful  London,"  thought  Britta.  "  So  hot 
and  stifling — there's  no  fresh  air  for  her.  And  all  this  going 
about  to  balls  and  parties  and  shows — no  wonder  she  is  tired 
out !  " 

But  it  was  something  more  than  mere  fatigue  that  made 
Thelma's  eyes  look  sometimes  so  anxious,  so  gravely  medi- 
tative and  earnest.  One  day  she  seemed  so  much  abstracted 
and  lost  in  painful  musings  that  Britta's  loving  heart  ached, 
and  she  watched  her  for  some  moments  without  venturing 
to  say  a  word.  At  last  she  spoke  out  bravely — 

"  Froken !  " — she  paused, — Thelma  seemed  not  to  hear 
her.  "  Froken  ! — has  anything  vexed  or  grieved  you  to- 
day ?  " 

Thelma  started  nervously.  "  Vexed  me — grieved  me?  " 
she  repeated.  "  No,  Britta — why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  You  look  very  tired,  dear  Froken,"  continued  Britta 
gently.  "  You  are  not  as  bright  as  }rou  were  when  we  first 
came  to  London." 

Thelma's  lips  quivered.  "  I — I  am  not  well,  Britta,"  she 
murmured,  and  suddenty  her  self-control  gave  way,  and  she 
broke  into  tears.  In  an  instant  Britta  was  kneeling  by  her, 
coaxing  and  caressing  her,  and  calling  her  by  every  endear- 
ing name  she  could  think  of,  while  she  wisely  forbore  from 
asking  any  more  questions.  Presently  her  sobs  grew 
calmer, — she  rested  her  fair  head  against  Britta's  shoulder 


THE  LAND  OP  MOCKERY.  307 

and  smiled  faintly.     At  that  moment  a  light  tap  was  heard 
outside,  and  a  voice  called — 

"  Thelma  !     Are  you  there  ?  " 

Britta  opened  the  door,  and  Sir  Philip  entered  hurriedly 
and  smiling — but  stopped  short  to  survey  his  wife  in  dis- 
may. 

"  Why,  my  darling !  "  he  exclaimed  distressfully.  "  Have 
you  been  crying  ?  " 

Here  the  discreet  Britta  retired. 

Thelvna  sprang  to  her  husband  and  nestled  in  his  arms. 

"  Philip,  do  not  mind  it,"  she  murmured.  "  I  felt  a  little 
sad — it  is  nothing  !  But  tell  me — you  do  love  me  ?  You 
will  never  tire  of  me  ?  You  have  always  loved  me,  I  am 
sure  ?  " 

He  raised  her  face  gently  with  one  hand,  and  looked  at 
her  in  surprise. 

"  Thelma — what  strange  questions  from  you!  Love  you  ? 
Is  not  every  beat  of  my  heart  for  you  ?  Are  you  not  my 
life,  my  joy — my  everything  in  this  world?"  And  he 
pressed  her  passionately  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  You  have  never  loved  any  one  else  so  much  ?  "  she  whis- 
pered, half  abashed. 

"  Never !  "  he  answered  readily.  "  What  makes  you  ask 
such  a  thing  ?  " 

She  was  silent.  He  looked  down  at  her  flushing  cheeks 
and  tear-wet  lashes  attentively. 

"  You  are  fanciful  to-day,  my  pet,"  he  said  at  last. 
u  You've  been  tiring  yourself  too  much.  You  must  rest. 
You'd  better  not  go  to  the  Brilliant  Theatre  to-night — it's 
only  a  burlesque,  and  is  sure  to  be  vulgar  and  noisy.  We'll 
stop  at  home  and  spend  a  quiet  evening  together — shall 
we?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  half  wistfully  and  smiled.  "  I  should 
like  that  very,  very  much,  Philip  !  "  she  murmured ;  "  but 
you  know  we  did  promise  Clara  to  go  with  her  to-night. 
And  as  we  are  so  soon  to  leave  London  and  return  to  War- 
wickshire, I  should  not  like  to  disappoint  her." 

'  You  are  very  fond  of  Clara  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Very !  "  She  paused  and  sighed  slightty.  "  She  is  so 
kind  and  clever — much  more  clever  than  I  can  ever  be — 
and  she  knows  many  things  about  the  world  which  I  do 
not.  And  she  admires  you  so  much,  Philip  !  " 

"  Does  she  indeed  ?  "     Philip  laughed  and  colored  a  little. 


808  THELMA. 

"  Very  good  of  her,  I'm  sure  !  And  so  you'd  really  like  to 
go  to  the  Brilliant  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  "  Clara  sa3rs  it  will 
be  very  amusing.  And  you  must  remember  how  much  I 
enjoyed  '  Faust '  and  '  Hamlet.'  " 

Errington  smiled.  "  You'll  find  the  Brilliant  perform- 
ance very  different  to  either,"  he  said  amusedly.  "  You 
don't  know  what  a  burlesque  is  like  !  " 

"  Then  I  must  be  instructed,"  replied  Thelma,  smiling 
also,  "  I  need  to  learn  many  things.  I  am  very  ignorant !  " 
•  "  Ignorant !  "  and  he  swept  aside  with  a  caressing  touch 
the  clustering  hair  from  her  broad,  noble  brow.  "  My 
darling,  y ou  possess  the  greatest  wisdom — the  wisdom  of 
innocence.  I  would  not  change  it  for  all  the  learning  of  the 
sagest  philosphers !  " 

"  You  really  mean  that  ?  "  she  asked  half  timidly. 

"  I  really  mean  that !  "  he  answered  fondly.  "  Little 
sceptic  1  As  if  I  would  ever  say  anything  to  you  that  I 
did  not  mean  I  I  shall  be  glad  when  we're  out  of  London 
and  back  at  the  Manor — then  I  shall  have  you  all  to  myself 
again — for  a  time,  at  least." 

She  raised  her  eyes  full  of  sudden  joy, — all  traces  of  her 
former  depression  had  disappeared. 

"  And  1  shall  have  you  !  "  she  said  gladly.  "  And  we 
shall  not  disappoint  Lady  Winsleigh  to-night,  Philip — I  am 
not  tired — and  I  shall  be  pleased  to  go  to  the  theatre." 

"  All  right  !  "  responded  Philip  cheerfully.  "  So  let  it 
be  !  Only  I  don't  believe  you'll  like  the  piece, — though  it 
certainly  won't  make  you  cry.  Yet  I  doubt  if  it  will  make 
you  laugh,  either.  However,  it  will  be  a  new  experience 
for  you." 

And  a  new  experience  it  decidedly  was, — an  experience, 
too,  which  brought  some  strange  and  perplexing  results  to 
Thelma  of  which  she  never  dreamed. 

She  went  to  the  Brilliant,  accompanied  by  Lady  Wins- 
leigh and  her  husband, — Neville,  the  secretary,  making  the 
fourth  in  their  box  ;  and  during  the  first  and  second  scene 
of  the  performance  the  stage  effects  were  so  pretty  and  the 
dancing  so  graceful  that  she  nearly  forgot  the  bewildered 
astonishment  she  had  at  first  felt  at  the  extreme  scantiness 
of  apparel  worn  by  the  ladies  of  the  ballet.  They  repre- 
sented birds,  bees,  butterflies,  and  the  other  winged  deni- 
zens of  the  forest-world, — and  the  tout-ensemble,  was  so 
fairy-like  and  brilliant  with  swift  movement,  light,  and 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY  309 

color  that  the  eye  was  too  dazzled  and  confused  to  note 
objectionable  details.  But  in  the  third  scene,  when  a  plump, 
athletic  young  woman  leaped  on  the  stage  in  the  guise  of  a 
humming-bird,  with  a  feather  tunic  so  short  that  it  was  a 
mere  waist-belt  of  extra  width, — a  flesh-colored  bodice  about 
three  inches  high,  and  a  pair  of  blue  wings  attached  to  her 
fat  shoulders,  Thelma  started  and  half  rose  from  her  seat  in 
dismay,  while  a  hot  tide  of  color  crimsoned  her  cheeks. 
She  looked  nervously  at  her  husband. 

u  I  do  not  think  this  is  pleasant  to  see,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone.  u  Would  it  not  be  best  to  go  away  ?  I — I  think  I 
would  rather  be  at  home." 

Lady  Winsleigh  heard  and  smiled, — a  little  mocking 
smile. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  child  !  "  she  said.  "  If  you  leave  the 
theatre  just  now  you'll  have  every  one  staring  at  }rou. 
That  woman's  an  immense  favorite — she  is  the  success  of 
the  piece.  She's  got  more  diamonds  than  either  you  or  I." 

Thelma  regarded  her  friend  with  a  sort  of  grave  wonder, 
— but  said  nothing  in  reply.  If  Lady  Winsleigh  liked  the 
performance  and  wished  to  remain,  why, — then  politeness 
demanded  that  Thelma  should  not  interfere  with  her  pleas- 
ure by  taking  an  abrupt  leave.  So  she  resumed  her  seat, 
but  withdrew  herself  far  behind  the  curtain  of  the  box,  in  a 
corner  where  the  stage  was  almost  invisible  to  her  eyes. 
Her  husband  bent  over  her  and  whispered — 

"  I'll  take  you  home  if  you  wish  it,  dear !  only  say  the 
word." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Clara  enjoys  it !  "  she  answered  somewhat  plaintively. 
"  We  must  stay." 

Philip  was  about  to  address  Lady  Winsleigh  on  the  sub- 
iect,  when  suddenly  Neville  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  alone  for  a  moment,  Sir  Philip  ? "  he 
said  in  a  strange,  hoarse  whisper.  *'  Outside  the  box — 
away  from  the  ladies — a  matter  of  importance  !  " 

He  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  faint.  He  gasped  rather 
than  spoke  these  words ;  his  face  was  white  as  death,  and 
his  eyes  had  a  confused  and  bewildered  stare. 

"  Certainly ! "  answered  Philip  promptly,  though  not 
without  an  accent  of  surprise, — and,  excusing  their  absence 
briefly  to  his  wife  and  Lady  Winsleigh,  they  left  the 
box  together.  Meanwhile  the  well-fed  "  Humming-Bird  " 
was  capering  extravagantly  before  the  footlights,  pointing 


310  THELMA. 

her  toe  in  the  delighted  face  of  the  stalls  and  singing  in  a 
in  a  loud,  coarse  voice  the  following  refined  ditty — 

"  Oh  my  ducky,  oh  my  darling,  oh  my  duck,  duck,  duck ! 
If  you  love  me  you  must  have  a  little  pluck,  pluck,  pluck ! 
Come  and  put  your  arms  around  me,  kiss  me  once,  twice,  thrice, 
For  kissing  may  be  naughty,  but,  by  Jingo!  it  is  nice  ! 
Once,  twice,  thrice ! 
Nice,  nice,  nice ! 
Bliss,  bliss,  bliss1 
Kiss,  kiss,  kiss ! 
Kissing  may  be  naughty,  but  it's  nice  !  " 

There  were  several  verses  in  this  graceful  poem,  and  each 
one  was  hailed  with  enthusiastic  applause.  The  "  Humming- 
Bird  "  was  triumphant,  and  when  her  song  was  concluded 
she  executed  a  startling  pas-seul  full  of  quaint  and  aston- 
ishing surprises,  reaching  her  superbest  climax  when  she 
backed  off  the  stage  on  one  portly  leg, — kicking  the  other 
in  regular  time  to  the  orchestra.  Lady  Winsleigh  laughed, 
and  leaning  towards  Thelma,  who  still  sat  in  her  retired 
corner,  said  with  a  show  of  kindness — 

"  You  dear  little  goose !  You  must  get  accustomed  to 
this  kind  of  thing — it  takes  with  the  men  immensely.  Why, 
even  your  wonderful  Philip  has  gone  down  behind  the 
scenes  with  Neville — you  may  be  sure  of  that! " 

The  startled,  pitiful  astonishment  in  the  girl's  face 
might  have  touched  a  less  callous  heart  than  Lady  Wins- 
leigh's, — but  her  lad}- ship  was  prepared  for  it  and  only 
smiled. 

"  Gone  behind  the  scenes !  To  see  that  dreadful  woman ! " 
exclaimed  Thelma  in  a  low  pained  tone.  "  Oh  no,  Clara ! 
He  would  not  do  such  a  thing.  Impossible !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  then  where  is  he  ?  He  has  been  gone 
quite  ten  minutes.  Look  at  the  stalls — all  the  men  are  out 
of  them !  I  tell  you  Violet  Vere  draws  everybody  of  the 
male  sex  after  her  !  At  the  end  of  all  her  '  scenes  '  she  has 
a  regular  reception — for  men  only — of  course  !  Ladies  not 
admitted  !  "  And  Clara  Winsleigh  laughed.  "  Don't  look 
so  shocked  for  heaven's  sake,  Thelma, — you  don't  want 
your  husband  to  be  a  regular  nincompoop !  He  must  have 
his  amusements  as  well  as  other  people.  I  believe  you  want 
him  to  be  like  a  baby,  tied  to  your  apron-string  1  You'll 
find  that  an  awful  mistake, — he'll  get  tired  to  death  of  you, 
sweet  little  GriseMa  though  you  are !  " 

Thelma's  face  grew  very  pale,  and  her  hand  closed  more 
tightly  on  the  fan  she  held. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  311 

"  You  have  said  that  so  very,  very  often  lately,  Clara !  " 
she  murmured.  "  You  seem  so  sure  that  he  will  get  tired 
— that  all  men  get  tired.  I  do  not  think  you  know  Philip 
— he  is  not  like  any  other  person  I  have  ever  met.  And 
why  should  he  go  behind  the  scenes  to  such  a  person  as 
Violet  Vere " 

At  that  moment  the  box-door  opened  with  a  sharp  click, 
and  Errington  entered  alone.  He  looked  disturbed  and 
anxious. 

"  Neville  is  not  well,"  he  said  abruptly,  addressing  his 
wife.  "  I've  sent  him  home.  He  wouldn't  have  been  able 
to  sit  this  thing  out."  And  he  glanced  half  angrily  towards 
the  stage — the  curtain  had  just  gone  up  again  and  dis- 
played the  wondrous  Violet  Vere  still  in  her  "  humming- 
bird "  character,  swinging  on  the  branch  of  a  tree  and 
(after  the  example  of  all  humming-birds)  smoking  a  cigar 
with  brazen-faced  tranquillity. 

"  I  am  sorry  he  is  ill,"  said  Thelma,  gently.  "  That  is  why 
you  were  so  long  away  ?  " 

"  Was  I  long  ? "  returned  Philip  somewhat  absently. 
"  I  didn't  know  it.  I  went  to  ask  a  question  behind  the 
scenes." 

•Lady  Winsleigh  coughed  and  glanced  at  Thelma,  whose 
eyes  dropped  instantly. 

"  I  suppose  you  saw  Violet  Vere  ?  "  asked  Clara. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her,"  he  replied  briefly.  He  seemed  irrita- 
ble and  vexed — moreover,  decidedly  impatient.  Presently 
he  said — 

"  Lad}'  Winsleigh,  would  you  mind  very  much  if  we  left 
this  place  and  went  home  ?  I'm  rather  anxious  about  Ne- 
ville— he's  had  a  shock.  Thelma  doesn't  care  a  bit  about 
this  piece,  I  know,  and  if  you  are  not  very  much  ab- 
sorbed  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  rose  instantly,  with  her  usual  ready 
grace. 

"  My  dear  Sir  Philip  1 "  she  said  sweetly.  "  As  if  I  would 
not  do  anything  to  oblige  you !  Let  us  go  by  all  means ! 
These  burlesques  are  extremely  fatiguing !  " 

He  seemed  relieved  by  her  acquiescence — and  smiled  that 
rare  sweet  smile  of  his,  which  had  once  played  such  havoc 
with  her  ladyship's  sensitive  feelings.  They  left  the  theatre, 
and  were  soon  on  their  way  home,  though  Thelma  was 
rather  silent  during  the  drive.  They  dropped  Lady  Wins- 
leigh at  her  own  door,  and  after  they  had  bidden  her  a  cor- 


312  THELMA. 

dial  good  night,  and  were  going  on  again  towards  home, 
Philip,  turning  towards  his  wife,  and  catching  sight  of  her 
face  by  the  light  of  a  street-lamp,  was  struck  by  her  extreme 
paleness  and  weary  look. 

"  You  are  very  tired,  my  darling,  I  fear  ?  "  he  inquired, 
tenderly  encircling  her  with  one  arm.  "  Lean  your  head 
on  my  shoulder — so  !  " 

She  obeyed,  and  her  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  took 
and  held  it  in  his  own  warm,  strong  clasp. 

"  We  shall  soon  be  home  !  "  he  added  cheerily.  "  And  I 
think  we  must  have  no  more  theatre-going  this  season. 
The  heat  and  noise  and  glare  are  too  much  for  you." 

u  Philip,"  said  Thelma  suddenly.  "  Did  you  really  go  be- 
hind the  scenes  to-night  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  he  answered  readily.  "  I  was  obliged  to 
go  on  a  matter  of  business — a  very  disagreeable  and  un- 
pleasant matter  too." 

"  And  what  was  it  ? "  she  asked  timidly,  yet  hopefully. 

''  My  pet,  I  can't  tell  you  !  I  wish  I  could  !  It's  a 
secret  I'm  bound  not  to  betray — a  secret  which  involves 
the  name  of  another  person  who'd  be  wretched  if  I  were  to 
mention  it  to  you.  There, — don't  let  us  talk  about  it  any 
more !  " 

"  Very  well,  Philip,"  said  Thelma  resignedly, — but 
though  she  smiled,  a  sudden  presentiment  of  evil  depressed 
her.  The  figure  of  the  vulgar,  half-clothed,  painted  creat- 
ure known  as  Violet  Vere  rose  up  mockingly  before  her 
eyes, — and  the  half-scornful,  half-jesting  words  of  Lady 
Winsleigh  rang  persistently  in  her  ears. 

On  reaching  home,  Philip  went  straight  to  Neville's  little 
study  and  remained  with  him  in  earnest  conversation  for  a 
long  time — while  Thelma  went  to  bed,  and  lay  restless 
among  her  pillows,  puzzling  her  brain  with  strange  fore- 
bodings and  new  and  perplexing  ideas,  till  fatigue  over- 
powered her,  and  she  fell  asleep  with  a  few  tear-drops  wet 
on  her  lashes.  And  that  night  Philip  wondered  why  his 
sweet  wife  talked  so  plaintively  in  her  sleep, — though  he 
smiled  as  he  listened  to  the  drift  of  those  dove-like  inur- 
mu  rings. 

"  No  one  knows  how  my  boy  loves  me,"  sighed  the 
dreaming  voice.  "  No  one  in  all  the  world !  How  should 
he  tire  ?  Love  can  never  tire  1 " 

Meanwhile,  Lady  Winsleigh,  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  313 

boudoir,  penned  a  brief  note  to  Sir  Francis  Lennox  as  fol- 
lows— 

"  DEAR  OLD  LENNIE, 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  stalls  at  the  theatre  this  evening, 
though  you  pretended  not  to  see  me.  What  a  fickle  creat- 
ure you  are  !  not  that  I  mind  in  the  very  least.  The  vir- 
tuous Bruce-Errington  left  his  saintly  wife  and  me  to  talk 
little  platitudes  together,  while  he,  decorously  accompanied 
by  his  secretary,  went  down  to  pay  court  to  Violet  Vere. 
How  stout  she  is  getting  !  Why  don't  you  men  advise  her 
to  diet  herself?  I  know  you  also  went  behind  the  scenes 
— of  course,  you  are  an  ami  intime — promising  boy  you  are, 
to  be  sure  !  Come  and  lunch  with  me  to-morrow,  if  you're 
not  too  lazy. 

"  Yours  ever, 
"  CLARA." 

She  gave  this  missive  to  her  maid,  Louise  Re'naud,  to 
post, — that  faithful  attendant  took  it  first  to  her  own 
apartment  where  she  ungummed  the  envelope  neatly  by 
the  aid  of  hot  water,  and  read  every  word  of  it.  This  was 
not  an  exceptional  action  of  hers, — all  the  letters  received 
and  sent  by  her  mistress  were  subjected  to  the  same  pro- 
cess,— even  those  that  were  sealed  with  wax  she  had  a 
means  of  opening  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  impossible 
to  detect  that  they  had  been  tampered  with. 

She  was  a  very  clever  French  maid  was  Lojise, — one  of 
the  cleverest  of  her  class.  Fond  of  mischief,  ever  suspi- 
cious, always  on  the  alert  for  evil,  utterly  unscrupulous  and 
malicious,  she  was  an  altogether  admirable  attendant  for  a 
lady  ot  rank  and  fashion,  her  skill  as  a  coiffeur  and  needle- 
woman always  obtaining  for  her  the  wages  she  so  justly 
deserved.  When  will  wealthy  women  reared  in  idleness 
and  luxury  learn  the  folly  of  keeping  a  trained  spy  at- 
tached to  their  persons  ? — a  spy  whose  pretended  calling  is 
merely  to  arrange  dresses  and  fripperies  (half  of  which  she 
invariably  steals),  but  whose  real  delight  is  to  take  note  of 
all  her  mistress's  incomings  and  outgoings,  tempers  and 
tears — to  watch  her  looks,  her  smiles  and  frowns, — and  to 
start  scandalous  gossip  concerning  her  in  the  servants'  hall, 
from  whence  it  gradually  spreads  to  the  society  newspapers 
— for  do  you  think  these  estimable  and  popular  journals  are 
never  indebted  for  their  "  reliable "  information  to  the 
"  honest "  statements  of  discharged  footman  or  valet  ? 


314  THELMA. 

Briggs,  for  instance,  bad  tried  his  hand  at  a  paragraph  or 
two  concerning  the  "  Upper  Ten,''  and  with  the  aid  of  i, 
dictionary,  had  succeeded  in  expressing  himself  quite 
smartly,  though  in  ordinary  conversation  his  h's  were  often 
lacking  or  superfluous,  and  his  grammar  doubtful. 
Whether  he  persuaded  any  editor  to  accept  his  literary  ef- 
forts is  quite  another  matter — a  question  to  which  the  an- 
swer must  remain  for  ever  enveloped  in  mystery, — but  if 
he  did  appear  in  print  (it  is  only  an  if  !)he  must  have  been 
immensely  gratified  to  consider  that  his  statements  were 
received  with  gusto  by  at  least  half  aristocratic  London, 
and  implicitly  believed  as  having  emanated  from  the  "  best 
authorities."  And  Louise  Renaud  having  posted  her  mis- 
tress's letter  at  last,  went  down  to  visit  Briggs  in  his  pri- 
vate pantry,  and  to  ask  him  a  question. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  rapidly,  with  her  tight,  prim  smile. 
"  You  read  the  papers — you  will  know.  What  lady  is  that 
of  the  theatres — Violet  Vere  ?  " 

Briggs  laid  down  the  paper  he  was  perusing  and  surveyed 
her  with  a  superior  air. 

"  What,  Yi  ?  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  lazy  wink.  "  Yi,  of 
the  Hopperer-Buff  ?  You've  'erd  of  'er  surely,  Mamzelle  ? 
No  ?  There's  not  a  man  (as  is  worth  calling  a  man)  about 
town,  as  don't  know  'er/  Dukes,  Lords,  an' Royal  'Igh- 
nesses — she's  the  style  for  'em  !  Mag-ni-ficent  creetur !  all 
legs  and  arms !  I  won't  deny  but  wot  I  'ave  an  admiration 
for  'er  myself — I  bought  a  'arf-crown  portrait  of  'er  quite 
recently. "  And  Briggs  rose  slowly  and  searched  in  a 
mysterious  drawer  which  he  invariably  kept  locked. 

"  'Ere  she  is,  as  large  as  life,  Mamzelle,"  he  continued, 
exhibiting  a  "  promenade  "  photograph  of  the  actress  in 
question.  "  There's  a  neck  for  you  !  There's  form  !  Yi, 
my  dear,  I  saloot  you ! "  and  he  pressed  a  sounding  kiss  on 
the  picture — "  you're  one  in  a  million  !  Smokes  and  drinks 
)ike  a  trooper,  Mamzelle !  "  he  added  admiringly,  as  Louise 
Renaud  studied  the  portrait  attentively.  "  But  with  all  'er 
advantages,  you  would  not  call  'er  a  lady.  No — that  term 
would  be  out  of  the  question.  She  is  wot  we  men  would 
call  an  enchantin'  female !  "  And  Briggs  kissed  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  and  waved  them  in  the  air  as  he  had  seen  certain 
foreign  gentlemen  do  when  enthusiastic. 

"  I  comprehend,"  said  the  French  maid,  nodding  emphati- 
cally. "  Then,  if  she  is  so,  what  makes  that  proud  Seigneur 
Bruce-Errington  visit  her  ?  "  Here  she  shook  her  finger  at 


THE  LAND  Of  MOCKERY.  315 

Briggs.  "  And  leave  bis  beautiful  lady  wife,  to  go  and  see 
her  ?  "  Another  shake.  "  And  that  miserable  Sieur  Len- 
nox to  go  also  ?  Tell  me  that !  "  She  folded  her  arms,  like 
Napoleon  at  St.  Helena,  and  smiled  again  that  smile  which 
was  nothing  but  a  sneer.  Briggs  rubbed  his  nose  contem- 
platively. 

"  Little  Francis  can  go  ennywheres,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  He's  laid  out  a  good  deal  of  tin  on  Vi  and  others  of  'er 
purfession.  You  cannot  make  enny-think  of  that  young 
feller  but  a  cad.  I  would  not  accept  'im  for  my  pussonal 

attendant.  No!  But  Sir  Philip  Bruce-Errington " 

He  paused,  then  continued,  "  Air  you  sure  of  your  facts, 
Mamzelle  ?  " 

Mamzelle  was  so  sure,  that  the  bow  on  her  cap  threatened 
to'  come  off  with  the  determined  wagging  of  her  head. 

"  Well,"  resumed  Briggs,  "  Sir  Philip  may,  like  bothers, 
consider  it '  the  thing  '  you  know,  to  'ang  on  as  it  were  to 
Vi.  But  I  W  thought  'im  superior  to  it.  Ah!  poor 
'uman  natur,  as  'Uxley  says  !  "  and  Briggs  sighed.  "  Lady 
Errington  is  a  sweet  creetur,  Mamzelle — a  very  sweet 
creetur !  Has  a  rule  I  find  the  merest  nod  of  my  'ed  a 
sufficient  saloot  to  a  woman  of  the  aristocracy — but  for  'er, 
Mamzelle,  I  never  fail  to  show  'er  up  with  a  court  bow  !  " 
And  involuntarily  Briggs  bowed  then  and  there  in  his  most 
elegant  manner.  Mamzelle  tightened  her  thin  lips  a  little 
and  waved  her  hand  expressively. 

"  She  is  an  angel  of  beauty  !  "  she  said,  "  and  Miladi 
Winsleigh  is  jealous — ah,  Dieu  •  jealous  to  death  of  her  ! 
She  is  innocent  too — like  a  baby — and  she  worships  her 
husband.  That  is  an  error  !  To  worship  a  man  is  a  great 
mistake — she  will  find  it  so.  Men  are  not  to  be  too  much 
loved — no,  no  !  " 

Briggs  smiled  in  superb  self-consciousness.  "  Well,  well ! 
I  will  not  deny,  Mamzelle,  that  it  spoils  us,"  he  said  com- 
placently. "  It  certainly  spoils  us !  '  When  lovely  woman 
stoops  to  folly,' — the  hold,  hold  story  !  " 

"  You  will  r-r-r-emember,"  said  Mamzelle,  suddenly  step- 
ping up  very  close  to  him  and  speaking  with  a  strong 
accent,  "  what  I  have  said  to-night !  Monsieur  Briggs,  you 
will  r-remember  !  There  will  be  mees-cheef !  Yes — there 
will  be  mees-cheef  to  Sieur  Bruce-Errington,  and  when  there 
is, — I — I,  Louise  Re'naud — I  know  who  ees  at  the  bottom  of 
eet !  " 

So  saying,  with  a  whirl  of  her  black  silk  dress  and  a  flasit 


316  THELMA. 

of  her  white  muslin  apron,  she  disappeared.  Briggs,  left 
alone,  sauntered  to  a  looking-glass  hanging  on  the  wall  and 
studied  with  some  solicitude  a  pimple  that  had  recently  ap- 
peared on  his  clean-shaven  face. 

"  Mischief  I  "  he  soliloquized.  "  I  des-say  !  Whenever  a 
lot  of  women  gets  together,  there's  sure  to  be  mischief. 
Dear  creeturs!  They  love  it  like  the  best  Clicquot. 
Sprightly  young  pusson  is  Mamzelle.  Knows  who's  at  the 
bottom  of '  eet,'  does  she  ?  Well — she's  not  the  only  one  as 
knows  the  same  thing.  As  long  as  doors  'as  cracks  and 
key'oles,  it  ain't  in  the  least  difficult  to  find  out  wot  goes  on 
inside  boo-dwars  and  drorin'-rooms.  And  'ighly  interestin' 
things  one  'ears  now  and  then — 'ighly  interestin'  1 " 

And  Briggs  leered  suavely  at  his  own  reflection,  and  then 
resumed  the  perusal  of  his  paper.  He  was  absorbed  in  the 
piquant,  highly  flavored  details  of  a  particularly  disgraceful 
divorce  case,  and  he  was  by  no  means  likely  to  disturb  him- 
self from  his  refined  enjoyment  for  any  less  important, 
reason  than  the  summons  of  Lord  Winsleigh's  bell,  which 
rang  so  seldom  that,  when  it  did,  he  made  it  a  point  of 
honor  to  answer  it  immediately,  for,  as  he  said — 

"  His  lordship  knows  wot  is  due  to  me,  and  I  knows  wot 
is  due  to  'im — therefore  it  'appens  we  are  able  to  ekally  re- 
spect each  other  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  If  thou  wert  honorable, 

Thou  would'st  have  told  this  tale  for  virtue,  not 
For  such  an  end  thou  seek'st  ;  as  base,  as  strange. 
Thou  wrong'st  a  gentleman  who  is  as  far 
From  thy  report,  as  thou  from  honor." 

Cymbeline. 

SUMMER  in  Shakespeare  Land !  Summer  in  the  heart  of 
England — summer  in  wooded  Warwickshire, — a  summer 
brilliant,  warm,  radiant  with  flowers,  melodious  with  the 
songs  of  the  heaven-aspiring  larks,  and  the  sweet,  low  trill 
of  the  forest-hidden  nightingales.  Wonderful  and  divine  it 
is  to  hear  the  wild  chorus  of  nightingales  that  sing  beside 
Como  in  the  hot  languorous  nights  of  an  Italian  July — 
wonderful  to  hear  them  maddening  themselves  with  love 
and  music,  and  almost  splitting  their  slender  throats  with 
the  bursting  bubbles  of  burning  song, — but  there  is  some- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  317 

thing,  perhaps,  more  dreamily  enchanting  still, — to  hear 
them  warbling  less  passionately  but  more  plaintively,  be- 
neath the  drooping  leafage  of  those  grand  old  trees,  some 
of  which  may  have  stretched  their  branches  in  shadowy 
benediction  over  the  sacred  head  of  the  grandest  poet  in 
the  world.  Why  travel  to  Athens, — why  wander  among 
the  Ionian  Isles  for  love  of  the  classic  ground  ?  Surely, 
though  the  clear-brained  old  Greeks  were  the  founders  of 
all  noble  literature,  they  have  reached  their  fulminating 
point  in  the  English  Shakespeare, — and  the  Warwickshire 
lanes,  decked  simply  with  hawthorn  and  sweet-briar  roses, 
through  which  Mary  Arden  walked  leading  her  boy-angel 
by  the  hand,  are  sacred  as  any  portion  of  that  earth  once 
trodden  by  the  feet  of  Homer  and  Plato. 

So,  at  least,  Thelma  thought,  when,  released  from  the 
bondage  of  London  social  life,  she  found  herself  once  more 
at  Errington  Manor,  then  looking  its  loveliest,  surrounded 
with  a  green  girdle  of  oak  and  beech,  and  set  off  by  the 
beauty  of  velvety  lawns  and  terraces,  and  rose-gardens  in 
full  bloom.  The  depression  from  which  she  had  suffered 
fell  away  from  her  completely — she  grew  light-hearted  as  a 
child,  and  flitted  from  room  to  room,  singing  to  herself  for 
pure  gladness.  Philip  was  with  her  all  day  now,  save  for 
a  couple  of  hours  in  the  forenoon  which  he  devoted  to 
letter-writing  in  connection  with  his  Parliamentary  aspira- 
tions,— and  Philip  was  tender,  adoring  and  passionate  as 
lovers  may  be,  but  as  husbands  seldom  are.  They  took 
long  walks  together  through  the  woods, — they  often  ram- 
bled across  the  fragrant  fields  to  Anne  Hathaway's  cottage, 
which  was  not  very  far  away,  and  sitting  down  in  some  se- 
questered nook,  Philip  would  pull  from  his  pocket  a  volume 
of  the  immortal  Plays,  and  read  passages  aloud  in  his  fine 
mellow  voice,  while  Thelma,  making  posies  of  the  meadow 
flowers,  listened  entranced.  Sometimes,  when  he  was  in  a 
more  business-like  humor,  he  would  bring  out  Cicero's 
Orations,  and  after  pondering  over  them  for  a  while  would 
talk  very  grandly  about  the  way  in  which  he  meant  to 
speak  in  Parliament. 

"  They  want  dash  and  fire  there,"  he  said,  "  and  these 
qualities  must  be  united  with  good  common  sense.  In  ad- 
dressing the  House,  you  see,  Thelma,  one  must  rouse  and 
interest  the  men — not  bore  them.  You  can't  expect  fellows 
to  pass  a  Bill  if  you've  made  them  long  for  their  beds  all 
the  time  you've  been  talking  about  it." 


318  THELMA. 

Thelma  smiled  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at "  Cicero's 
Orations." 

"  And  do  you  wish  to  speak  to  them  like  Cicero,  my 
boy  ? "  she  said  gently.  "  But  I  do  not  think  you  will  find 
that  possible.  Because  when  Cicero  spoke  it  was  in  a  dif 
ferent  age  and  to  very  different  people — people  who  were 
glad  to  learn  how  to  be  wise  and  brave.  But  if  you  were 
Cicero  himself,  do  you  think  you  would  be  able  to  impress 
the  English  Parliament  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  dear  ? "  asked  Errington  with  some  fervor. 
"  I  believe  that  men,  taken  as  men,  pur  et  simple,  are  the 
same  in  all  ages,  and  are  open  to  the  same  impressions. 
Why  should  not  modern  Englishmen  be  capable  of  receiv- 
ing the  same  lofty  ideas  as  the  antique  Romans,  and  acting 
upon  them  ?  " 

"  Ah,  do  not  ask  me  why,"  said  Thelma,  with  a  plaintive 
little  shake  of  her  head — "  for  /cannot  tell  you!  But  re- 
member how  many  members  of  Parliament  we  did  meet  in 
London — and  where  were  their  lofty  ideas?  Philip,  had 
they  any  ideas  at  all,  do  you  think  ?  There  was  that  very 
fat  gentleman  who  is  a  brewer, — well,  to  hear  him  talk, 
would  you  not  think  all  England  was  for  the  making  of 
beer  ?  And  he  does  not  care  for  the  country  unless  it  con- 
tinues to  consume  his  beer !  It  was  to  that  very  man  I 
said  something  about  Hamlet,  and  he  told  me  he  had  no  in- 
terest for  such  nonsense  as  Shakespeare  and  play-going — 
his  time  was  taken  up  at  the  '  'Owse.'  You  see,  he  is  a 
member  of  Parliament — yet  it  is  evident  he  neither  knows 
the  language  nor  the  literature  of  his  country !  And  there 
must  be  many  like  him,  otherwise  so  ignorant  a  person 
would  not  hold  such  a  position — and  for  such  men,  what 
would  be  the  use  of  a  Cicero  ?  " 

Philip  leaned  back  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree  under 
which  they  were  sitting,  and  laughed. 

"  You  may  be  right,  Thelma, — I  dare  say  you  are. 
There's  certainly  too  much  beer  represented  in  the  House — 
I  admit  that.  But,  after  all,  trade  is  the  great  moving- 
spring  of  national  prosperity, — and  it  would  hardly  be  fair 
to  refuse  seats  to  the  very  men  who  help  to  keep  the 
country  going." 

"I  do  not  see  that,"  said  Thelma  gravely, — "if those 
men  are  ignorant,  why  should  they  have  a  share  in  so  im- 
portant a  thing  as  Government  ?  They  may  know  all  about 
beer,  and  wool,  and  iron, — but  perhaps  they  can  only  judge 


TEE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  319 

what  is  good  for  themselves,  not  what  is.  best  for  the  whole 
country,  with  all  its  rich  and  poor.  I  do  think  that  only 
the  wisest  scholars  and  most  intelligent  persons  should  be 
allowed  to  help  in  the  ruling  of  a  great  nation." 

"  But  the  people  choose  their  own  rulers,"  remarked  Er- 
rington  reflectively. 

"  Ah,  the  poor  people  !  "  sighed  Thelma.  "  They  know 
so  very  little, — and  they  are  taught  so  badly !  I  think  they 
never  do  quite  understand  what  they  do  want, — they  are  the 
same  in  all  histories, — like  little  children,  they  get  be- 
wildered and  frightened  in  any  trouble,  and  the  wisest 
heads  are  needed  to  think  for  them.  It  is,  indeed,  most 
cruel  to  make  them  puzzle  out  all  difficulty  for  themselves  !  " 

"  What  a  little  sage  you  are,  my  pet !  "  laughed  Philip, 
taking  her  hand  on  which  the  marriage-ring  and  its  accom- 
panying diamond  circlet,  glistened  brilliantly  in  the  warm 
sunlight.  "  Do  you  mean  to  go  in  for  politics  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  indeed !  That  is  not  woman's 
work  at  all.  The  only  way  in  which  I  think  about  such 
things,  is  that  I  feel  the  people  cannot  all  be  wise, — and 
that  it  seems  a  pity  the  wisest  and  greatest  in  the  land 
should  not  be  chosen  to  lead  them  rightly." 

"  And  so  under  the  circumstances,  you  think  it's  no  use 
my  trying  to  pose  as  a  Cicero?"  asked  her  husband 
amusedly.  She  laughed — with  a  very  tender  cadence  in 
her  laughter. 

"  It  would  not  be  worth  your  while,  my  boy,"  she  said. 
"  You  know  I  have  often  told  you  that  I  do  not  see  any 
great  distinction  in  being  a  member  of  Parliament  at  all. 
What  will  you  do  ?  You  will  talk  to  the  fat  brewer  per- 
haps, and  he  will  contradict  you — then  other  people  will 
get  up  and  talk  and  contradict  each  other, — and  so  it  will 
go  on  for  days  and  days — meanwhile  the  country  remains 
exactly  as  it  was,  neither  better  nor  worse, — and  all  the 
talking  does  no  good  1  It  is  better  to  be  out  of  it, — here 
together,  as  we  are  to-day." 

And  she  raised  her  dreamy  blue  eyes  to  the  sheltering 
canopy  of  green  leaves  that  overhung  them — leaves  thick- 
clustered  and  dewy,  through  which  the  dazzling  sky  peeped 
in  radiant  patches.  Philip  looked  at  her, — the  rapt  ex- 
pression of  her  upward  gaze, — the  calm,  untroubled  sweet- 
ness of  her  fair  face, — were  such  as  might  well  have  suited 
one  of  Raffacl!  's  divinest  angels.  His  heart  beat  quickly 
—•he  drew  closer  to  her,  andjput  bis  arm  round  her, 


320  THELMA. 

"  Your  eyes  are  looking  at  the  sky,  Thelma,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  Heaven  looking  into 
heaven  !  And  do  you  know  which  of  the  two  heavens 
I  prefer?'*  She  smiled,  and  turning,  met  his  ardent  gaze 
with  one  of  equal  passion  and  tenderness. 

"  Ah,  you  do  know !  "  he  went  on,  softly  kissing  the  side 
of  her  slim  white  throat.  "  I  thought  you  couldn't  possibly 
make  a  mistake  1  "  He  rested  his  head  against  her  shoul- 
der, and  after  a  minute  or  two  of  lazy  comfort,  he  resumed. 
"  You  are  not  ambitious,  my  Thelma  !  You  don't  seem  to 
care  whether  your  husband  distinguishes  himself  in  the 
• ' Ou.se J  as  our  friend  the  brewer  calls  it,  or  not.  In  fact,  I 
don't  believe  you  care  for  anything  save — love  !  Am  I  not 
right,  my  wife?" 

A  wave  of  rosy  color  flushed  her  transparent  skin,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  an  earnest,  almost  pathetic  languor. 

"  Surely  of  all  things  in  the  world,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone, — "  Love  is  best  ?  " 

To  this  he  made  prompt  answer,  though  not  in  words — 
his  lips  conversed  with  hers,  in  that  strange,  sweet  lan- 
guage which,  though  unwritten,  is  everywhere  comprehen- 
sible,— and  then  they  left  their  shady  resting-place  and 
sauntered  homeward  hand  in  hand  through  the  warm  fields 
fragrant  with  wild  thyme  and  clover. 

Many  happy  days  passed  thus  with  these  lovers — for  lov- 
ers they  still  were.  Marriage  had  for  once  fulfilled  its  real 
and  sacred  meaning — it  had  set  Love  free  from  restraint, 
and  had  opened  all  the  gateways  of  the  only  earthly  para- 
dise human  hearts  shall  ever  know, — the  paradise  of  perfect 
union  and  absolute  sympathy  with  the  one  thing  beloved  on 
this  side  eternity. 

The  golden  hours  fled  by  all  too  rapidly, — and  towards 
the  close  of  August  there  came  an  interruption  to  their  fe- 
licity. Courtesy  had  compelled  Bruce-Errington  and  his 
wife  to  invite  a  few  friends  down  to  visit  them  at  the  Manor 
before  the  glory  of  the  summer-time  was  past, — and  first 
among  the  guests  came  Lord  and  Lad}'  Winsleigh  and  their 
bright  boy,  Ernest.  Her  ladyship's  maid,  Louise  Renaud, 
of  course,  accompanied  her  ladyship, — and  Briggs  was  also 
to  the  fore  in  the  capacity  of  Lord  Winsleigh's  personal  at- 
tendant. After  these,  George  Lorimer  arrived — he  had 
avoided  the  Erringtons  all  the  season, — but  he  could  not 
very  well  refuse  the  pressing  invitation  now  given  him 
without  geeming  churlish, — then  came  Beau  Lovelace,  for  a 


•THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  321 

few  days  only,  as  with  the  commencement  of  September  he 
would  be  off  as  usual  to  his  villa  on  the  Lago  di  Como. 
Sir  Francis  Lennox,  too,  made  his  appearance  frequently  in 
a  casual  sort  of  way — he  "  ran  down,"  to  use  his  own  ex- 
pression, now  and  then,  and  made  himself  very  agreeable, 
especially  to  men,  by  whom  he  was  well  liked  for  his  invari- 
able good-humor  and  extraordinary  proficiency  in  all  sports 
and  games  of  skill.  Another  welcome  visitor  was  Pierre 
Duprez,  lively  and  sparkling  as  ever, — he  came  from  Paris 
to  pass  a  fortnight  with  his  "  cher  Phil-eep,"  and  make  mer- 
riment for  the  whole  party.  His  old  admiration  for  Britta 
had  by  no  means  decreased, — he  was  fond  of  waylaying  that 
demure  little  maiden  on  her  various  household  errands,  and 
giving  her  small  posies  of  jessamine  and  other  sweet-scented 
blossoms  to  wear  just  above  the  left-hand  corner  of  her 
apron-bib,  close  to  the  place  where  the  heart  is  supposed 
to  be.  Olaf  Giildmar  had  been  invited  to  the  Manor  at  this 
period, — Errington  wrote  many  urgent  letters,  and  so  did 
Thelma,  entreating  him  to  come, — for  nothing  would  have 
pleased  Sir  Philip  more  than  to  have  introduced  the  fine  old 
Odin  worshipper  among  his  fashionable  friends,  and  to  have 
heard  him  bluntly  and  forcibly  holding  his  own  among 
them,  putting  their  faint  and  languid  ways  of  life  to  shame 
by  his  manly,  honest,  and  vigorous  utterance.  But  Giild- 
mar had  only  just  returned  to  the  Altenfjord  after  nearly  a 
year's  absence,  and  his  hands  were  too  full  of  work  for  him 
to  accept  his  son-in-law's  invitation. 

"  The  farm  lands  have  a  waste  and  dreary  look,"  he  wrote, 
"  though  I  let  them  to  a  man  who  should  verily  have  known 
how  to  till  the  soil  trodden  by  his  fathers — and  as  for  the 
farmhouse,  'twas  like  a  hollow  shell  that  has  lain  long  on 
the  shore  and  become  brown  and  brittle — for  thou  knowest 
no  human  creature  has  entered  there  since  we  departed. 
However,  Valdemar  Svensen  and  I,  for  sake  of  company, 
have  resolved  to  dwell  together  in  it,  and  truly  we  have 
nearly  settled  down  to  the  peaceful  contemplation  of  our 
past  days, — so  Philip',  and  thou,  my  child  Thelma,  trouble 
not  concerning  me.  I  am  hale  and  hearty,  the  gods  be 
thanked, — and  may  live  on  in  hope  to  see  you  both  next 
spring  or  summer-tide.  Your  happiness  keeps  this  old  man 
young — so  grudge  me  not  the  news  of  your  delights  wherein 
I  am  myself  delighted." 

One  familiar  figure  was  missing  from  the  Manor  house- 
bold,— that  of  Edward  Seville,    ISwce  the  night  at  the 
21 


322  THELMA. 

Brilliant,  when  he  had  left  the  theatre  so  sudden!/,  and 
gone  home  on  the  plea  of  illness,  he  had  never  been  quite 
the  same  man.  He  looked  years  older — he  was  strangely 
nervous  and  timid — and  he  shrank  away  from  Thelma  as 
though  he  were  some  guilty  or  tainted  creature.  Surprised 
at  this,  she  spoke  to  her  husband  about  it, — but  he,  hur- 
riedly, and  with  some  embarrassment,  advised  her  to  "  let 
him  alone  " — his  "  nerves  were  shaken  " — his  "  health  was 
feeble" — and  that  it  would  be  kind  on  her  part  to  refrain 
from  noticing  him  or  asking  him  questions.  So  she  re- 
frained— but  Neville's  behavior  puzzled  her  all  the  same. 
When  they  left  town,  he  implored,  almost  piteously,  to  be 
allowed  to  remain  behind, — he  could  attend  to  Sir  Philip's 
business  so  much  better  in  London,  he  declared,  and  he  had 
his  way.  Errington,  usually  fond  of  Neville's  society,  made 
no  attempt  whatever  to  persuade  him  against  his  will, — so 
he  stayed  in  the  half-shut-up  house  in  Prince's  Gate  through 
all  the  summer  heat,  poring  over  parliamentary  documents 
and  pamphlets, — and  Philip  came  up  from  the  country  once 
a  fortnight  to  visit  him,  and  transact  any  business  that 
might  require  his  personal  attention. 

On  one  of  the  last  and  hottest  days  in  August,  a  grand 
garden-party  wac  given  at  the  Manor.  All  the  county  peo- 
ple were  invited,  and  they  came  eagerly,  though,  before 
Thelma's  social  successes  in  London,  they  had  been  reluc- 
tant to  meet  her.  Now,  they  put  on  their  best  clothes,  and 
precipitated  themselves  into  the  Manor  grounds  like  a  fiock 
of  sheep  seeking  land  on  which  to  graze, — all  wearing  their 
sweetest  propitiatory  smirk — all  gushing  forth  their  ad- 
miration of  "  that  darling  Lady  Errington  " — all  behaving 
themselves  in  the  exceptionally  funny  manner  that  county 
people  affect, — people  who  are  considered  somebodies  in  the 
small  villages  their  big  houses  dominate, — but  who,  when 
brought  to  reside  in  London,  become  less  than  the  minnows 
in  a  vast  ocean.  These  good  folks  were  not  only  anxious  to 
see  Lady  Errington — they  wanted  to  say  they  had  seen  her, 
— and  that  she  had  spoken  to  them,  so  that  they  might,  in 
talking  to  their  neighbors,  mention  it  in  quite  an  easy, 
casual  way,  such  as — "  Oh,  I  was  at  Errington  Manor  the 

other  day,  and  Lady  Errington  said  to  me ."     Or — "  Sir 

Philip  is  such  a  charming  man  !  I  was  talking  to  his  lovely 
wife,  and  he  asked  me —  "etc.,  etc.  Or — "  You've  no  idea 
what  large  strawberries  the}'  grow  at  the  Manor  !  Lady 
Errington  showed  me  some  that  were  just  ripening — mag- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  323 

nificent !  "  And  so  on.  For  in  truth  this  is  "  a  mad  world, 
my  masters," — and  there  is  no  accounting  for  the  inex- 
pressibly small  follies  and  mean  toadyisms  of  the  people  in 
it. 

Moreover,  all  the  London  guests  who  were  visiting  Thelma 
came  in  for  a  share  of  the  county  magnates'  servile  admira- 
tion. They  found  the  Winsleighs  "  so  distingue  " — Master 
Ernest  instantly  became  "  that  dear  boy  !  " — Beau  Love- 
lace was  "  so  dreadfully  clever,  }*ou  know  !  " — and  Pierre 
Duprez  "  quite  too  delightful !  " 

The  grounds  looked  very  brilliant — pink-and-white  mar- 
quees were  dotted  here  and  there  on  the  smooth  velvet 
lawns — bright  flags  waved  from  different  quarters  of  the 
gardens,  signals  of  tennis,  archery,  and  dancing, — and  the 
voluptuous  waltz-music  of  a  fine  Hungarian  band  rose  up 
and  swayed  in  the  air  with  the  downward  floating  songs  of 
the  birds  and  the  dash  of  fountains  in  full  play.  Girls  in 
pretty  light  summer  costumes  made  picturesque  groups 
under  the  stately  oaks  and  beeches, — gay  laughter  echoed 
from  the  leafy  shrubberies,  and  stray  couples  were  seen 
sauntering  meditatively  through  the  rose-gardens,  treading 
on  the  fallen  scented  petals,  and  apparently  too  much  ab- 
sorbed in  each  other  to  notice  anything  that  was  going  on 
around  them.  Most  of  these  were  lovers,  of  course — in- 
tending lovers,  if  not  declared  ones, — in  fact,  Eros  was  very 
busy  that  day  among  the  roses,  and  shot  forth  a  great  many 
arrows,  aptly  aimed,  out  of  bis  exhaustless  quiver. 

Two  persons  there  were,  however, — man  and  woman, — 
who,  walking  in  that  same  rose-avenue,  did  not  seem,  from 
their  manner,  to  have  much  to  do  with  the  fair  Greek  god, — 
they  were  Lady  Winsleigh  and  Sir  Francis  Lennox.  Her 
ladyship  looked  exceedingly  beautiful  in  her  clinging  dress  of 
Madras  lace,  with  a  bunch  of  scarlet  poppies  at  her  breast, 
and  a  wreath  of  the  same  vivid  flowers  in  her  picturesque 
Leghorn  hat.  She  held  a  scarlet-lined  parasol  over  her  head, 
and  from  under  the  protecting  shadow  of  this  silken  pavil- 
ion, her  dark,  lustrous  eyes- flashed  disdainfully  as  she  re- 
garded her  companion.  He  was  biting  an  end  of  his  brown 
moustache,  and  looked  annoj^ed,  yet  lazily  amused  too. 

"  Upon  my  life,  Clara,"  he  observed,  "  you  are  really  aw- 
fully down  on  a  fellow,  you  know !  One  would  think  you 
never  cared  twopence  about  me !  " 

"  Too  high  a  figure !  "  retorted  Lady  Winsleigh,  with  a 
hard  little  laugh.  "  I  never  cared  a  brass  farthing !  " 


324  THELMA. 

He  stopped  short  in  his  walk  and  stared  at  her. 

"  By  Jove !  you  are  cool  1  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Then  what 
did  you  mean  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  defiantly. 

He  was  silent.  After  a  slight,  uncomfortable  pause,  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

•'  Don't  let  us  have  a  scene  !  "  he  observed  in  a  bantering 
tone.  "  Anything  but  that !  " 

"  Scene !  "  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  "  Pray  when  have 
you  had  to  complain  of  me  on  that  score  ?  " 

"  Well,  don't  let  me  have  to  complain  now,"  he  said 
coolly. 

She  surveyed  him  in  silent  scorn  for  a  moment,  and  her 
full,  crimson  lips  curled  contemptuously. 

u  What  a  brute  you  are !  "  she  muttered  suddenly  between 
her  set  pearly  teeth. 

"  Thanks,  awfully  !  "  he  answered,  taking  out  a  cigarette 
and  lighting  it  leisurely.  "  You  are  really  charmingly 
candid,  Clara  !  Almost  as  frank  as  Lady  Errington,  only 
less  polite !  " 

"  I  shall  not  learn  politeness  from  you,  at  any  rate,"  she 
said, — then  altering  her  tone  to  one  of  studied  indifference, 
she  continued  coldly,  "  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  We've 
done  with  each  other,  as  you  know.  I  believe  you  wish  to 
become  gentleman-lacquey  to  Bruce-Errington's  wife,  and 
that  you  find  it  difficult  to  obtain  the  situation.  Shall  I 
give  you  a  character  ?  " 

He  flushed  darkly,  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  an  evil 
lustre. 

"Gently,  Clara!  Draw  it  mild!"  he  said  languidly. 
"  Don't  irritate  me,  or  I  may  turn  crusty  !  You  know,  if  I 
chose,  I  could  open  Bruce-Errington's  eyes  rather  more 
widely  than  you'd  like  with  respect  to  the  devoted  affection 
you  entertain  for  his  beautiful  wife."  She  winced  a  little 
at  this  observation — he  saw  it  and  laughed, — then  resumed: 
"  At  present  I'm  really  in  the  best  of  humors.  The  reason 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  alone  for  a  minute  or  two  was, 
that  I'd  something  to  say  which  might  possibly  please  you. 
But  perhaps  you'd  rather  not  hear  it  ?  " 

She  was  silent.  So  was  he.  He  watched  her  closely  for 
a  little — noting  with  complacency  the  indignant  heaving  of 
her  breast  and  the  flush  on  her  cheeks, — signs  of  the  strong 
repression  she  was  putting  upon  her  rising  temper. 

"  Come,  Clara,  you  may  a§  well  be  amiable,"  he  said. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  325 

"  I'm  sure  you'll  be  glad  to  know  that  the  virtuous  Philip 
is  not  immaculate  after  all.  Won't  it  comfort  you  to  think 
that  he's  nothing  but  a  mortal  man  like  the  rest  of  us  ?  . 
.  .  and  that  with  a  little  patience  your  charms  will  most 
probably  prevail  with  him  as  easily  as  they  once  did  with 
me  ?  Isn't  that  worth  hearing  ?  " 

''  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  replied  curtly. 

"  Then  you  are  very  dense,  my  dear  girl,"  he  remarked 
smilingly.  "  Pardon  me  for  saying  so !  But  I'll  put  it 
plainly  and  in  as  few  words  as  possible.  The  moral  Bruce- 
Errington,  like  a  great  many  other  '  moral '  men  I  know, 
has  gone  in  for  Violet  Vere, — and  I  dare  say  you  under- 
stand what  that  means.  In  the  simplest  language,  it  means 
that  he's  tired  of  his  domestic  bliss  and  wants  a  change." 

Lady  Winsleigh  stopped  in  her  slow  pacing  along  the 
gravel-walk,  and  raised  her  eyes  steadily  to  her  compan- 
ion's face. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Positive  !  "  replied  Sir  Francis,  flicking  the  light  ash 
off  his  cigarette  delicately  with  his  little  finger.  "  When 
you  wrote  me  that  note  about  the  Vere,  I  confess  I  had  my 
suspicions.  Since  then  they've  been  confirmed.  I  know 
for  a  fact  that  Emngton  has  had  several  private  interviews 
with  Vi,  and  has  also  written  her  a  good  manj^  letters. 
Some  of  the  fellows  in  the  green-room  tease  her  about  her 
new  conquest,  and  she  grins  and  admits  it.  Oh,  the  whole 
thing's  plain  enough  !  Only  last  week,  when  he  went  up  to 
town  to  see  his  man  Neville  on  business  he  called  on  Vi  at 
her  own  apartments  in  Arundel  Street,  Strand.  She  told 
me  so  herself — we're  rather  intimate,  you  know, — though 
of  course  she  refused  to  mention  the  object  of  his  visit. 
Honor  among  thieves  !  "  and  he  smiled  half  mockingly. 

Lady  Winsleigh  seemed  absorbed,  and  walked  on  like  one 
in  a  dream.  Just  then,  a  bend  in  the  avenue  brought  them 
in  full  view  of  the  broad  terrace  in  front  of  the  Manor, 
where  Thelma's  graceful  figure,  in  a  close-fitting  robe  of 
white  silk  crepe,  was  outlined  clearly  against  the  dazzling 
blue  of  the  sky.  Several  people  were  grouped  near  her, — 
she  seemed  to  be  in  animated  conversation  with  some  of 
them,  and  her  face  was  radiant  with  smiles.  Lady  Win- 
sleigh looked  at  her, — then  said  suddenly  in  a  low  voice — 

"  It  will  break  her  heart !  " 

Sir  Francis  assumed  an  air  of  polite  surprise.  "  Pardon  1 
Whose  heart?" 


326  THELMA. 

She  pointed  slightly  to  the  white  figure  on  the  terrace. 

"  Hers  !  Surely  you  must  know  that  ?  " 

He  smiled.  "  Well — isn't  that  precisely  what  you  desire, 
Clara  ?  Though,  for  my  part,  I  don't  believe  in  the  brittle- 
ness  of  hearts — they  seein  to  me  to  be  made  of  exception- 
ally tough  material.  However,  if  the  fair  Thelma's  heart 
cracks  ever  so  widely,  I  think  I  can  undertake  to  mend  it  1 " 

Clara  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  You  !  "  she  exclaimed 
contemptuously. 

He  stroked  his  moustache  with  feline  care  and  nicety. 

"  Yes — 1 1  If  not,  I've  studied  women  all  my  life  for 
nothing !  " 

She  broke  into  a  low  peal  of  mocking  laughter — turned, 
and  was  about  to  leave  him,  when  he  detained  her  by  a 
slight  touch  on  her  arm. 

u  Stop  a  bit !  "  he  said  in  an  impressive  sotto-voce.  "  A 
bargain's  a  bargain  all  the  world  over.  If  I  undertake  to 
keep  you  cognizant  of  Bruce-Errington's  little  goings-on  in 
London, — information  which,  I  dare  say,  you  can  turn  to 
good  account, — you  must  do  something  for  me.  I  ask  very 
little.  Speak  of  me  to  Lady  Errington — make  her  think 
well  of  me, — flatter  me  as  much  as  you  used  to  do  when  we 
fancied  ourselves  terrifically  in  love  with  each  other — (a 
good  joke,  wasn't  it !) — and,  above  all,  make  her  trust  me  I 
DC  you  understand  ?  " 

"  As  Red  Riding-Hood  trusted  the  Wolf  and  was  eaten 
up  for  her  innocence,"  observed  Lady  Winsleigh.  "  Very 
well !  I'll  do  my  best.  As  I  said  before,  you  want  a  char- 
acter. I'm  sure  I  hope  you'll  obtain  the  situation  you  so 
much  desire  1  I  can  state  that  you  made  yourself  fairly 
useful  in  your  last  place,  and  that  you  left  because  your 
wages  were  not  high  enough  !  " 

And  with  another  sarcastic  laugh,  she  moved  forward 
towards  the  terrace  where  Thelma  stood.  Sir  Francis  fol- 
lowed at  some  little  distance  with  no  very  pleasant  expres- 
sion on  his  features.  A  stealthy  step  approaching  him 
from  behind  made  him  start  nervously — it  was  Louise 
Renaucl,  who,  cany  ing  a  silver  tray  on  which  soda-water 
bottles  and  glasses  made  an  agreeable  clinking,  tripped  de- 
murely past  him  without  raising  her  eyes.  She  came  di- 
rectly out  of  the  rose-garden, — and,  as  she  overtook  her 
mistress  on  the  lawn,  that  lady  seemed  surprised,  and 
asked — 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Louise  ?  " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKEKY.  327 

"  Miladi  was  willing  that  I  should  assist  in  the  attendance 
to-day,"  replied  Louise  discreetly.  "  I  have  waited  upon 
Milord  Winsleigh,  and  other  gentlemen  in  the  summer- 
house  at  the  end  of  the  rose-garden." 

And  with  one  furtive  glance  of  her  black,  bead-like  eyes 
at  Lady  Winsleigh 's  face,  she  made  a  respectful  sort  of 
half-curtsy  and  went  her  way. 

Later  on  in  the  afternoon,  when  it  was  nearing  sunset, 
ar.'l  all  other  amusements  had  given  way  to  the  delight  of 
dancing  on  the  springy  green  turf  to  the  swinging  music  of 
the  band, — Briggs,  released  for  a  time  from  the  duties  of 
assisting  the  waiters  at  the  splendid  refreshment-table 
(duties  which  were  pleasantly  lightened  by  the  drinking  of 
a  bottle  of  champagne  which  he  was  careful  to  reserve  for 
his  own  consumption),  sauntered  leisurely  through  the 
winding  alleys  and  fragrant  shrubberies  which  led  to  the 
most  unromantic  portion  of  the  Manor  grounds, — namely, 
the  vegetable-garden.  Here  none  of  the  butterflies  of 
fashion  found  their  way, — the  suggestions  offered  by  grow- 
ing cabbages,  turnips,  beans,  and  plump,  yellow-skinned 
marrows  were  too  prosaic  for  society  bantams  who  require 
refined  surroundings  in  which  to  crow  their  assertive 
platitudes.  Yet  it  was  a  peaceful  nook — and  there  were 
household  odors  of  mint  and  thyme  and  sweet  marjoram, 
which  were  pleasant  to  the  soul  of  Briggs,  and  reminded 
him  of  roast  goose  on  Christmas  Day,  with  all  its  attendant 
succulent  delicacies.  He  paced  the  path  slowly, — the  light 
of  the  sinking  sun  blazing  gloriously  on  his  plush  breeches, 
silver  cordons  and  tassels, — for  he  was  in  full-dress  livery 
in  honor  of  the  fete,  and  looked  exceedingly  imposing.  Now 
and  then  he  glanced  down  at  his  calves  with  mild  approval, 
— his  silk  stockings  fitted  them  well,  and  they  had  a  very 
neat  and  shapely  appearance. 

"  I  'ave  developed,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "  There 
ain't  a  doubt  about  it !  One  week  of  country  air,  and  I'm  a 
different  man  ; — the  effecks  of  overwork  'ave  disappeared. 
Flopsie  won't  know  these  legs  of  mine  when  I  get  back, — 
they've  improved  surprisingly."  He  stopped  to  survey  a 
bed  of  carrots.  "  Plenty  of  Cressy  there,"  he  mused. 
"  Cressy 's  a  noble  soup,  and  Flopsie  makes  it  well, — a  man 
might  do  wuss  than  marry  Flopsie.  She's  a  widder,  and  a 

leetle  old — just  a  leetle  old  for  me — but "  Here  he 

sniffed  delicately  at  a  sprig  of  thyme  he  had  gathered,  and 
smiled  consciously.  Presently  he  perceived  a  small,  plump, 


328  THELMA. 

pretty  figure  approaching  him,  no  other  than  Britta.  look- 
ing particularly  charming  in  a  very  smart  cap,  adorned 
with  pink-ribbon  bows,  and  a  very  elaborately  frilled  muslin 
apron.  Briggs  at  once  assumed  his  most  elegant  and  con- 
quering air,  straightened  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
kissed  his  hand  to  her  with  much  condescension.  She 
laughed  as  she  came  up  to  him,  and  the  dimples  in  her 
round  cheeks  appeared  in  full  force. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Briggs,"  she  said,  "  are  you  enjoying  your- 
self?" 

Briggs  smiled  down  upon  her  benevolently.  "  I  am  1 " 
he  responded  graciously.  "  I  find  the  hair  refreshing.  And 
you,  Miss  Britta  ?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  very  comfortable,  thank  you!"  responded 
Britta  demurely,  edging  a,  little  away  from  his  arm.  which 
showed  an  unmistakable  tendency  to  encircle  her  waist, — 
then  glancing  at  a  basket  she  held  full  of  grapes,  just  cut 
from  the  hot  house,  she  continued,  "  These  are  for  the  sup< 
per-table.  I  must  be  quick,  and  take  them  to  Mrs.  Parton." 

"  Must  you  ?  "  and  Briggs  asked  this  question  with  quite 
an  unnecessary  amount  of  tenderness,  then  resuming  his 
dignity,  he  observed,  "  Mrs.  Parton  is  a  very  worthy  woman 
— an  excellent  'ousekeeper.  But  she'li  no  doubt  excuse  you 
for  lingering  a  little,  Miss  Britta — especially  in  my  com- 
pany." 

Britta  laughed  again,  showing  her  pretty  little  white  teeth 
to  the  best  advantage.  "  Do  you  think  she  will  ?  "  she  said 
merrily.  "  Then  I'll  stop  a  minute,  and  if  she  scolds  me 
I'll  put  the  blame  on  you  !  " 

Briggs  played  with  his  silver  tassels  and,  leaning  grace- 
fully against  a  plum-tree,  surveyed  her  with  a  critical  eye. 

"  I  was  not  able,"  he  observed,  "  to  see  much  of  you  in 
town.  Our  people  were  always  a'  visitin'  each  other,  and 
yet  our  meetings  were,  as  the  poet  says,  '  few  and  far 
between.'  " 

Britta  nodded  indifferently,  and  perceiving  a  particularly 
ripe  gooseberry  on  one  of  the  bushes  close  to  her,  gathered 
it  quickly  and  popped  it  between  her  rosy  lips.  Seeing 
another  equally  ripe,  she  offered  it  to  Briggs,  who  accepted 
it  and  ate  it  slowly,  though  he  had  a  misgiving  that  by  so 
doing  he  was  seriously  compromising  his  dignity.  He  re- 
sumed his  conversation. 

"  Since  I've  been  down  'ere,  I've  'ad  more  opportunity  to 
observe  you.  I  'ope  you  will  allow  me  to  say  I  think  very 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  329 

'ighly  of  you."  He  waved  his  hand  with  the  elegance  of  a 
Sir  Charles  Grandison.  "Very  'ighly  indeed!  Your 
youth  is  most  becoming  to  you  !  If  you  only  'ad  a  little 
more  chick,  there'd  be  nothing  left  to  desire  !  " 

"  A  little  more — what  ?  "  asked  Britta,  opening  her  blue 
eyes  very  wide  in  puzzled  amusement. 

"  Chick ! "  replied  Briggs,  with  persistent  persuasive- 
ness. "  Chick,  Miss  Britta,  is  a  French  word  much  used 
by  the  aristocracy.  Coming  from  Norway,  an  'avin'  per- 
haps a  very  limited  experience,  you  mayn't  'ave  'erd  it — but 
eddicated  people  'ere  find  it  very  convenient  and  expressive. 
Chick  means  style, — the  thing,  the  go,  the  fashion.  For 
example,  every  think  your  lady  wears  is  chick!" 

u  Really  !  "  said  Britta,  with  a  wandering  and  innocent 
air.  "  How  funny  1  It  doesn't  sound  like  French,  al  all, 
Mr.  Briggs, — it's  more  like  English." 

u  Perhaps  the  Paris  accent  isn't  familiar  to  you  yet,"  re- 
marked Briggs  majestically.  "  Your  stay  in  the  gay  metrop- 
olis was  probably  short.  Now,  I  'ave  been  there  many  times 
— ah,  Paris,  Paris  !  "  he  paused  in  a  sort  of  ecstacy,  then, 
with  a  side  leer,  continued — "  You'd  'ardly  believe  'ow 
wicked  I  am  in  Paris,  Miss  Britta  !  I  am,  indeed  !  It  is 
something  in  the  hair  of  the  Bolly vards,  I  suppose !  And 
the  caffy  life  excites  my  nerves." 

"Then  you  shouldn't  go  there,"  said  Biitta  gravely, 
though  her  eyes  twinkled  with  repressed  fun.  u  It  can't  be 
good  for  you.  And,  oh!  I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Briggs,  to  think 
that  you  are  ever  wicked  !  "  And  she  laughed. 

"  It's  not  for  long,"  explained  Briggs,,  with  a  comically 
satisfied,  yet  penitent,  look.  "  It  is  only  a  sort  of  breaking 
out, — a  fit  of  'igh  spirits.  Hall  men  are  so  at  times  !  It's 
chick  to  run  a  little  wild  in  Paris.  But,  Miss  Britta,  if 
you  were  with  me  I  should  never  run  wild !  "  Here  his 
arm  made  another  attempt  to  get  round  her  waist — and 
again  she  skillfully,  and  with  some  show  of  anger,  avoided  it. 

"  Ah,  you're  very  'ard  upon  me,"  he  then  observed. 
"  Very,  very,  'ard !  But  I  won't  complain,  my — my  dear 
gal — one  day  you'll  know  me  better  !  "  He  stopped  and 
looked  at  her  very  intently.  ''  Miss  Britta,"  he  said  ab- 
ruptly, "  you've  a  great  affection  for  your  lady,  ?aven't 
you?" 

Instantly  Britta's  face  flushed,  and  she  was  all  attention. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  she  answered  quickly.  "  Why  do  you 
ask,  Mr.  Briggs  ? " 


330  TEELMA. 

Briggs  rubbed  his  nose  perplexedly.  "  It  is  not  easy  to 
explain,"  he  said.  "  To  run  down  my  own  employers 
wouldn't  be  in  my  line.  But  I've  an  idea  that  Clara — by 
which  name  I  allude  to  my  Lord  Winsleigh's  lad}-, — is  up  to 
mischief.  She  'ates  your  lady,  Miss  Britta — 'ates  'er  like 
poison !  " 

"  Hates  her  1  "  cried  Britta  in  astonishment.  "  Oh,  you 
must  be  mistaken,  Mr.  Briggs !  She  is  as  fond  of  her  as 
she  can  be — almost  like  a  sister  to  her  1  " 

"  Clara's  a  fine  actress,"  murmured  Briggs,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  his  companion.  "  She'd  beat  Violet  Yere  on 
'er  own  ground."  Raising  his  voice  a  little,  he  turned  gal- 
lantly to  Britta  and  relieved  her  of  the  basket  she  held. 

"  Hallow  me  !  "  he  said.  "  We'll  walk  to  the  'ouse  to- 
gether. On  the  way  I'll  explain — and  you'll  judge  for 
yourself.  The  words  of  the  immortal  bard,  whose  county 
we  are  in,  occur  to  me  as  aprerpo, — '  There  are  more  things 
in  'evin  and  'erth,  ;Oratio, — than  even  the  most  devoted  do- 
mestic can  sometimes  be  aweer  of.'  " 

And  gently  sauntering  by  Britta's  side,  Briggs  began  to 
converse  in  low  and  confidential  tones, — she  listened  with 
strained  and  eager  attention, — and  she  was  soon  receiving 
information  that  startled  her  and  set  her  on  the  alert. 

Talk  of  private  detectives  and  secret  service  I  Do  pri- 
vate detectives  ev^r  discover  so  much  as  the  servants  of  a 
man's  own  household  ? — servants  who  are  aware  of  the 
smallest  trifles, — who  know  the  name  and  position  of  every 
visitor  that  comes  and  goes, — who  easily  learn  to  recognize 
the  handwriting  on  every  letter  that  arrives — who  laugh 
and  talk  in  their  kitchens  over  things  that  their  credulous 
masters  and  mistresses  imagine  are  unknown  to  all  the 
world  save  themselves, — who  will  judge  the  morals  of  a 
Duke,  and  tear  the  reputation  of  a  Duchess  to  shreds,  for 
the  least,  the  most  trifling  error  of  conduct !  If  you  can 
stand  well  with  your  servants,  you  can  stand  well  with  the 
whole  world — if  not — carry  yourself  as  haughtily  as  you 
may — your  pride  will  not  last  long,  depend  upon  it  1 

Meanwhile,  as  Briggs  and  Britta  strolled  in  the  side 
paths  of  the  shrubbery,  the  gay  guests  of  the  Manor  were 
dancing  on  the  lawn.  Thelma  did  not  dance, — she  reclined 
in  a  low  basket-chair,  fanning  herself.  George  Lorimer  lay 
stretched  in  lazy  length  at  her  feet,  and  near  her  stood  her 
husband,  together  with  Beau  Lovelace  and  Lord  Winsleigh. 
At  a  little  distance,  under  the  shadow  of  a  noble  beech,  sat 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  331 

Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  and  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  in  earnest  con- 
versation. It  was  to  Mrs.  Marvelle  that  the  Van  Clupps 
owed  their  invitation  for  this  one  day  down  to  Errington 
Manor, — for  Thelma  herself  was  not  partial  to  them.  But 
she  did  not  like  to  refuse  Mrs.  Marvelle's  earnest  entreaty 
that  they  should  be  asked, — and  that  good-natured,  schem- 
ing lady  having  gained  her  point,  straightway  said  to  Mar- 
cia  Van  Clupp  somewhat  severely — 

"  Now,  Marcia,  this  is  your  last  chance.  If  you  don't 
hook  Masherville  at  the  Carringten  fete,  you'll  lose  him  I 
You  mark  my  words  !  " 

Marcia  had  dutifully  promised  to  do  her  best,  and  she 
was  not  having  what  she  herself  called  "  a  good  hard  time 
of  it."  Lord  Algy  was  in  one  of  his  most  provokingly  va- 
cillating moods — moreover,  he  had  a  headache,  and  felt  bil- 
ious. Therefore  he  would  not  dance — he  would  not  play 
tennis — he  did  not  understand  archery — he  was  disinclined 
to  sit  in  romantic  shrubberies  or  summer-houses,  as  he  had 
a  nervous  dread  of  spiders — so  he  rambled  aimlessly  about 
the  grounds  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  perforce 
Marcia  was  compelled  to  ramble  too.  Once  she  tried  what 
effect  an  opposite  flirtation  would  have  on  his  mind,  so  she 
coquetted  desperately  with  a  young  country  squire,  whose 
breed  of  pigs  was  considered  the  finest  in  England — but 
Masherville  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  in  the  least.  Nay,  he 
looked  rather  relieved  than  otherwise,  and  Marcia,  seeing 
this,  grew  more  resolute  than  ever. 

"I  guess  I'll  pay  him  out  for  this!"  she  thought  as 
she  watched  him  feebly  drinking  soda-water  for  his  head- 
ache. "  He's  a  man  that  wants  ruling,  and  ruled  he  shall 
be!" 

And  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  and  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  observed 
her  manoeuvres  with  maternal  interest,  while  the  cunning- 
faced,  white-headed  Van  Clupp  conversed  condescendingly 
with  Mr.  Rush-Marvelle,  as  being  a  nonentity  of  a  man 
whom  he  could  safely  patronize. 

As  the  glory  of  the  sunset  paled,  and  the  delicate,  warm 
hues  of  the  summer  twilight  softened  the  landscape,  the 
merriment  of  the  brilliant  assembly  seemed  to  increase.  As 
soon  as  it  was  dark,  the  grounds  were  to  be  illuminated  by 
electricity,  and'  dancing  was  to  be  continued  indoors — the 
fine  old  picture-gallery  being  the  place  chosen  for  the  pur- 
pose. Nothing  that  could  add  to  the  utmost  entertainment 
of  the  guests  had  been  forgotten,  and  Thelma,  the  fair  mis- 


332  THELMA. 

tress  of  these  pleasant  revels,  noting  with  quiet  eyes  the 
evident  enjoyment  of  all  present,  felt  very  happy  and  tran- 
quil. She  had  exerted  herself  a  good  deal,  and  was  now  a 
little  tired.  Her  eyes  had  a  dreamy,  far-off  look,  and  she 
found  her  thoughts  wandering,  now  and  then,  away  to  the 
Altenfjord — she  almost  fancied  she  could  hear  the  sigh  of 
the  pines  and  the  dash  of  the  waves  mingling  in  unison  as  they 
used  to  do  when  she  sat  at  the  old  farm-house  window  and 
span,  little  dreaming  then  how  her  life  would  change — how 
all  those  familiar  things  would  be  swept  away  as  though 
they  had  never  been.  She  roused  herself  from  this  momen- 
tary reverie,  and  glancing  down  at  the  recumbent  gentle- 
man at  her  feet,  touched  his  shoulder  lightly  with  the  edge 
of  her  fan. 

"  Why  do  you  not  dance,  you  very  lazy  Mr.  Lorimer  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

He  turned  up  his  fair,  half-boyish  face  to  hers  and 
laughed. 

"  Dance  !  1 1  Good  gracious !  Such  an  exertion  would 
kill  me,  Lady  Errington — don't  you  know  that  ?  I 
am  of  a  Sultan-like  disposition — I  shouldn't  mind  having 
slaves  to  dance  for  me  if  they  did  it  well — but  I  should  look 
on  from  the  throne  whereon  I  sat  cross-legged, — and  smoke 
my  pipe  in  peace." 

"  Always  the  same !  "  she  said  lightly.  "  Are  you  never 
serious  ?  " 

His  eyes  darkened  suddenly.  "  Sometimes.  Awfully  sol 
And  in  that  condition  I  become  a  burden  to  myself  and  my 
friends." 

"  Never  be  serious !  "  interposed  Beau  Lovelace, "  it  really 
isn't  worth  while!  Cultivate  the  humor  of  a  Socrates, and 
reduce  everything  \>y  means  of  close  argument  to  its  small- 
est standpoint,  and  the  world,  life,  and  time  are  no  more 
than  a  pinch  of  snuff  for  some  great  Titantic  god  to  please 
his  giant  nose  withal  ! " 

"  Your  fame  isn't  worth  much  then,  Beau,  if  we're  to  go 
by  that  line  of  argument,"  remarked  Errington,  with  a 
laugh. 

"Fame!  By  Jove!  You  don't  suppose  I'm  such  an 
arrant  donkey  as  to  set  any  store  by  fame !  "  cried  Love- 
lace, a  broad  smile  lighting  up  his  face  and  eyes.  "  Why, 
because  a  few  people  read  my  books  and  are  amused  thereby, 
— and  because  the  Press  pats  me  graciously  on  the  back, 
and  says  metaphorically, '  Well  done,  little  'un  1 '  or  words 


T3E  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  333 

to  that  effect,  am  I  to  go  crowing  about  the  world  as  if  I 
were  the  only  literary  chanticleer  ?  My  dear  friend,  hare 
you  read  '  Esdras  '  ?  You  will  find  there  that  a  certain 
king  of  Persia  wrote  to  one  '  Rathumus,  a  story-writer.' 
No  doubt  he  was  famous  in  his  day,  but, — to  travesty 
Hamlet,  '  where  be  his  stories  now  ? '  Learn,  from  the 
deep  oblivion  into  which  poor  Rathumus's  literary  efforts 
have  fallen,  the  utter  mockery  and  usele^sness  of  so-called 
fame  !  " 

"  But  there  must  be  a  certain  pleasure  in  it  while  you're 
alive  to  enjoy  it,"  said  Lord  Winsleigh.  "  Surely  you  de- 
rive some  little  satisfaction  from  your  celebrity,  Mr.  Love- 
lace ?  " 

Beau  broke  into  a  laugh,  mellow,  musical,  and  hearty. 

"  A  satisfaction  shared  with  murderers,  thieves,  divorced 
women,  dynamiters,  and  other  notorious  people  in  general," 
he  said.  "  They're  all  talked  about — so  am  I.  They  all 
get  written  about — so  do  I.  My  biography  is  always  being 
carefully  compiled  by  newspaper  authorities,  to  the  delight 
of  the  reading  public.  Only  the  other  day  I  learned  Ibr 
the  first  time  that  my  father  was  a  greengrocer,  who  went 
in  for  selling  coals  by  the  half-hundred  and  thereby  made 
his  fortune — my  mother  was  an  unsuccessful  oyster-woman 
who  failed  ignominiously  at  Margate — moreover,  I've  a 
great  many  brothers  and  sisters  of  tender  age  whom  I  ab- 
solutely refuse  to  assist.  I've  got  a  wife  somewhere,  whom 
my  literary  success  causes  me  to  despise — and  I  have  de- 
serted children.  I'm  charmed  with  the  accuracy  of  the 
newspapers — and  I  wouldn't  contradict  them  for  the  world, 
— I  find  my  biographies  so  original !  They  are  the  result 
of  that  celebrity  which  Winsleigh  thinks  enjoyable." 

"  But  assertions  of  that  kind  are  libels,"  said  Errington. 
"  You  could  prosecute." 

"  Too  much  trouble  I "  declared  Beau.  "  Besides,  five 
journals  have  disclosed  the  name  of  the  town  where  I  was 
born,  and  as  they  all  contradict  each  other,  and  none  of 
them  are  right,  any  contradiction  on  my  part  would  be 
superfluous ! " 

They  laughed, — and  at  that  moment  Lady  Winsleigh 
joined  them. 

"  Are  you  not  catching  cold,  Thelma  ? "  she  inquired 
sweetly.  "  Sir  Philip,  you  ought  to  make  her  put  on  some- 
thing warm, — I  find  the  air  growing  chilly." 

At  that  moment  the  ever-ready  Sir  Francis  Lennox  ap- 


834  THELMA. 

preached  with  a  light  woolen  wrap  he  had  found  in  the 
hall. 

"  Permit  me !  "  he  said  gently,  at  the  same  time  adroitly 
throwing  it  over  Thelnia's  shoulders. 

She  colored  a  little, — she  did  not  care  for  his  attention, 
but  she  could  not  very  well  ignore  it  without  seeming  to  be 
discourteous.  So  she  murmured, "  Thank  you  !  "  and,  rising 
from  her  chair,  addressed  Lady  Winsleigh. 

"  If  you  feel  cold,  Clara,  you  will  like  some  tea,"  she 
said.  u  Shall  we  go  indoors,  where  it  is  ready  ?  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  assented  with  some  eagerness, — and  the 
two  beautiful  women — the  one  dark,  the  other  fair — walked 
side  by  side  across  the  lawn  into  the  house,  their  arms 
round  each  other's  waists  as  they  went. 

"  Two  queens — and  yet  not  rivals  ?  "  half  queried  Love- 
lace, as  he  watched  them  disappearing. 

"  Their  thrones  are  secure  !  "  returned  Sir  Philip  gaily. 

The  others  were  silent.  Lord  Winsleigh's  thoughts, 
Whatever  they  were,  deepened  the  lines  of  gravity  on  his 
face  ;  and  George  Lorimer,  as  he  got  up  from  his  couch  on 
the  grass,  caught  a  fleeting  expression  in  the  brown  eyes  of 
Sir  Francis  Lennox  that  struck  him  with  a  sense  of  un- 
pleasantness. But  he  quickly  dismissed  the  impression 
from  his  mind,  and  went  to  have  a  quiet  smoke  in  the 
shrubbery. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  La  rose  du  jardin,  comme  tu  sais,  dure  peu,  et  la  saison  des  roses 
est  bien  vite  6coul6e !  " — SAADI. 

THELMA  took  her  friend  Lady  Winsleigh  to  her  own 
boudoir,  a  room  which  had  been  the  particular  pride  of  Sir 
Philip's  mother.  The  walls  were  decorated  with  panels  of 
blue  silk  in  which  were  woven  flowers  of  gold  and  silver 
thread, — and  the  furniture,  bought  from  an  old  palace  in 
Milan,  was  of  elaborately  carved  wood  inlaid  with  ivory 
#nd  silver.  Here  a  tete-d-tete  tea  was  served  for  the  two 
ladies,  both  of  whom  were  somewhat  fatigued  by  the  pleas- 
ares  of  the  day.  Lady  Winsleigh  declared  she  must  have 
some  rest,  or  she  would  be  quite  unequal  to  the  gaieties  of 
the  approaching  evening,  and  Thelma  herself  was  not  sorry 
£o  escape  for  a  little  from  her  duties  as  hostess, — so  the  two 
remained  together  for  some  time  in  earnest  conversation. 


TEE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  335 

and  Lady  Winsleigh  then  and  there  confided  to  Thelma 
what  she  had  heard  reported  concerning  Sir  Philip's  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  burlesque  actress,  Violet  Vere. 
And  they  were  both  so  long  absent  that,  after  a  while, 
Errington  began  to  miss  his  wife,  and,  growing  impatient, 
went  in  search  of  her.  He  entered  the  boudoir,  and,  to  his 
surprise,  found  Lady  Winsleigh  there  quite  alone. 

"  Where  is  Thelma  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  She  seems  not  very  well — a  slight  headache  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort — and  has  gone  to  lie  down,"  replied  Lady 
Winsleigh,  with  a  faint  trace  of  embarrassment  in  her 
manner.  "  I  think  the  heat  has  been  too  much  for  her." 

"  I'll  go  and  see  after  her," — and  he  turned  promptly  to 
leave  the  room. 

"  Sir  Philip  !  "  called  Lady  Winsleigh.  He  paused  and 
looked  back. 

"  Stay  one  moment,"  continued  her  ladyship  softly.  "  I 
have  been  for  a  long  time  so  very  anxious  to  say  something 
to  you  in  private.  Please  let  me  speak  now.  You — you 
know  " — here  she  cast  down  her  lustrous  eyes — "  before  you 
went  to  Norway  I — I  was  very  foolish " 

"  Pray  do  not  recall  it,"  he  said  with  kindly  gravity. 
"  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"  That  is  so  good  of  you !  "  and  a  flush  of  color  warmed 
her  delicate  cheeks.  u  For  if  you  have  forgotten,  you  have 
also  forgiven?" 

"  Entirely  !  "  answered  Errington, — and  touched  by  her 
plaintive,  self-reproachful  manner  and  trembling  voice,  he 
went  up  to  her  and  took  her  hands  in  his  own.  "  Don't 
think  of  the  past,  Clara  1  Perhaps  I  also  was  to  blame  a 
little — I'm  quite  willing  to  think  I  was.  Flirtation's  a 
dangerous  amusement  at  best."  He  paused  as  he  saw  two 
bright  tears  on  her  long,  silky  lashes,  and  in  his  heart  felt 
a  sort  of  remorse  that  he  had  ever  permitted  himself  to 
think  badly  of  her.  "  We  are  the  best  of  friends  now, 
Clara,"  he  continued  cheerfully,  "  and  I  hope  we  may  al- 
ways remain  so.  You  can't  imagine  how  glad  I  am  that 
you  love  my  Thelma  !  " 

"  Who  would  not  love  her !  "  sighed  Lady  Winsleigh 
gently,  as  Sir  Philip  released  her  hands  from  his  warm 
clasp, — then  raising  her  tearful  eyes  to  his  she  added  wist- 
fully, "  You  must  take  great  care  of  her,  Philip — she  is  so 
sensitive, — I  always  fancy  an  unkind  word  would  kill  her." 

"  She'll  never  hear  one  from  me!  "  he  returned,  with  so 


336  THELMA. 

tender  and  earnest  a  look  on  his  face,  that  Lady  Winsleigh's 
heart  ached  for  jealousy.  "  I  must  really  go  and  see  how 
she  is.  She's  been  exerting  herself  too  much  to-day.  Ex- 
cuse me  !  "  and  with  a  courteous  smile  and  bow  he  left  the 
room  with  a  hurried  and  eager  step. 

Alone,  Lady  Winsleigh  smiled  bitterly.  "  Men  are  all 
alike  1  "  she  said  half  aloud.  "  Who  would  think  he  was 
such  a  Irypocrite  ?  Fancy  his  dividing  his  affection  be- 
tween two  such  contrasts  as  Thelma  and  Violet  Verel 
However,  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes.  As  for  man's 
fidelity,  I  wouldn't  give  a  straw  for  it — and  for  his  moral- 
ity  ! "  She  finished  the  sentence  with  a  scornful  laugh, 

and  left  the  boudoir  to  return  to  the  rest  of  the  company. 

Errington,  meanwhile,  knocked  softly  at  the  door  of  his 
wife's  bedroom — and  receiving  no  answer,  turned  the  handle 
noiselessly  and  went  in.  Thelma  lay  on  the  bed,  dressed  as 
she  was,  her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  face  par- 
tially hidden.  Her  husband  approached  on  tiptoe,  and 
lightly  kissed  her  forehead.  She  did  not  stir, — she  ap- 
peared to  sleep  profoundly. 

"  Poor  girl !  "  he  thought,  "  she's  tired  out,  and  no  won- 
der, with  all  the  bustle  and  racket  of  these  people  1  A  good 
thing  if  she  can  rest  a  little  before  the  evening  closes  in." 

And  he  stole  quietly  out  of  the  room,  and  meeting  Britta 
on  the  stairs  told  her  on  no  account  to  let  her  mistress  be 
disturbed  till  it  was  time  for  the  illumination  of  the 
grounds.  Britta  promised, — Britta's  eyes  were  red — one 
would  almost  have  fancied  she  had  been  crying.  But 
Thelma  was  not  asleep — she  had  felt  her  husband's  kiss, — 
her  heart  had  beat  as  quickly  as  the  wing  of  a  caged  wild 
bird  at  his  warm  touch, — and  now  he  had  gone  she  turned 
and  pressed  her  lips  passionately  on  the  pillow  where  his 
hand  had  leaned.  Then  she  rose  languidly  from  the  bed.y 
and,  walking  slowly  to  the  door,  locked  it  against  all 
comers.  Presently  she  began  to  pace  the  room  up  and 
down, — up  and  down, — her  face  was  very  white  and  weary, 
and  every  now  and  then  a  shuddering  sigh  broke  from  her 
lips. 

"  Can  I  believe  it  ?  Oh  no  !— I  cannot— I  will  not !  " 
she  murmured.  "  There  must  be  some  mistake — Clara  has 
heard  wrongly."  She  sighed  again.  "  Yet — if  it  is  so, — 
he  is  not  to  blame — it  is  I — I  who  have  failed  to  please 
him.  Where — how  have  I  failed  ? " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  337 

A  pained,  puzzled  look  filled  her  grave  blue  eyes,  and  she 
stopped  in  her  walk  to  and  fro. 

"  It  cannot  be  true  !  "  she  said  half  aloud, — "  it  is  alto- 
gether unlike  him.  Though  Clara  says — and  she  has 
known  him  so  long  ! — Clara  says  he  loved  her  once — long 
before  he  saw  me — my  poor  Philip !— he  must  have  suffered 
by  that  love  ! — perhaps  that  is  why  he  thought  life  so  wear- 
isome when  he  first  came  to  the  Altenfjord — ah  !  the  Alten- 
fjord ! " 

A  choking  sob  rose  in  her  throat — but  she  repressed  it. 
"  I  must  try  not  to  weary  him,"  she  continued  softly — "  I 
must  have  done  so  in  some  way,  or  he  would  not  be  tired. 
But  as  for  what  I  have  heard, — it  is  not  for  me  to  ask  him 
questions.  I  would  not  have  him  think  that  I  mistrust 
him.  No — there  is  some  fault  in  me — something  he  does 

not  like,  or  he  would  never  go  to "  She  broke  off  and 

stretched  out  her  hands  with  a  sort  of  wild  appeal.  "  Oh, 
Philip !  my  darling  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  sobbing  whisper. 
"  I  always  knew  I  was  not  worthy  of  you — but  I  thought, 
— I  hoped  my  love  would  make  amends  for  all  my  short- 
comings ! " 

Tears  rushed  into  her  eyes,  and  she  turned  to  a  little 
arched  recess,  shaded  by  velvet  curtains — her  oratory — 
where  stood  an  exquisite  white  marble  statuette  of  the  Vir- 
gin and  Child.  There  she  knelt  for  some  minutes,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands,  and  when  she  rose  she  was  quite  calm, 
though  very  pale.  She  freshened  her  face  with  cold  water, 
rearranged  her  disordered  hair, — and  then  went  downstairs, 
thereby  running  into  the  arms  of  her  husband  who  was 
coming  up  again  to  look,  as  he  said,  at  his  "  Sleeping 
Beauty." 

"  And  here  she  is  !  "  he  exclaimed  joyously.  "  Have  you 
rested  enough,  my  pet  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes !  "  she  answered  gently.  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  be  so  lazy.  Have  you  wanted  me,  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  always  want  you,"  he  declared.  "  I  am  never  happy 
without  you." 

She  smiled  and  sighed.  "  You  say  that  to  please  me," 
she  said  half  wistfulty. 

"  I  say  it  because  it  is  true !  "  he  asserted  proudly,  put- 
ting his  arm  round  her  waist  and  escorting  her  in  this  man- 
ner down  the  great  staircase.  "  Andj'ou  know  it,  you  sweet 
witch  1  You're  just  in  time  to  see  the  lighting  up  of  the 
grounds.  There'll  be  a  good  view  from  the  picture-gallery 
22 


338  THELMA. 

— lots  of  tlie  people  have  gone  in  there — you'd  better  come 
too,  for  it's  chilly  outside." 

She  followed  him  obediently,  and  her  reappearance  among 
her  guests  was  hailed  with  enthusiasm, — Lady  Winsleigh 
being  particular  effusive,  almost  too  much  so. 

"  Your  headache  has  quite  gone,  dearest,  hasn't  it  ?  "  she 
inquired  sweetly. 

Thelma  eyed  her  gravely.  "  I  did  not  suffer  from  the 
headache,  Clara,"  she  said.  "  I  was  a  little  tired,  but  I  am 
quite  rested  now." 

Lady  Winsleigh  bit  her  lips  rather  vexedly,  but  said  no 
more,  and  at  that  moment  exclamations  of  delight  broke 
from  all  assembled  at  the  brilliant  scene  that  suddenly 
flashed  upon  their  eyes.  Electricity,  that  radiant  sprite 
whose  magic  wand  has  lately  been  bent  to  the  service  of 
man,  had  in  less  than  a  minute  pla}red  such  dazzling  pranks 
in  the  gardens  that  they  resembled  the  fabled  treasure- 
houses  discovered  by  Aladdin.  Every  tree  glittered  with 
sparkling  clusters  of  red,  blue,  and  green  light — every 
flower-bed  was  bordered  with  lines  and  circles  of  harmless 
flame,  and  the  fountains  tossed  up  tall  columns  of  amber, 
rose,  and  amethyst  spray  against  the  soft  blue  darkness  of 
the  sky,  in  which  a  lustrous  golden  moon  had  just  risen. 
The  brilliancy  of  the  illuminations  showed  up  several  dark 
figures  strolling  in  couples  about  the  grounds — romantic 
persons  evidently,  who  were  not  to  be  persuaded  to  come 
indoors,  even  for  the  music  of  the  band,  which  just  tLen 
burst  forth  invitingly  through  the  open  windows  of  the 
picture-gallery. 

Two  of  these  pensive  wanderers  were  Marcia  Van  Clupp 
and  Lord  Algernon  Masherville, — and  Lord  Algy  was  in  a 
curiously  sentimental  frame  of  mind,  and  weak  withal, 
"  comme  une  petite  queue  d'  agneau  afflige."  He  had  taken 
a  good  deal  of  soda  and  brandy  for  his  bilious  headache, 
and,  physically,  he  was  much  better, — but  mentally  he  was 
not  quite  his  ordinary  self.  By  this  it  must  not  be  under- 
stood that  he  was  at  all  unsteadied  by  the  potency  of  his 
medicinal  tipple — he  was  simply  in  a  bland  humor — that 
peculiar  sort  of  humor  which  finds  strange  and  mystic 
beauty  in  everything,  and  contemplates  the  meanest  trifles 
with  emotions  of  large  benevolence.  He  was  conversa- 
tional too,  and  inclined  to  quote  poetry — this  sort  of  sus- 
ceptibleness  often  affects  gentlemen  after  they  have  had  an 
excellent  dinner  flavored  with  the  finest  Burgundy.  Lord 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  33t» 

Algy  was  as  mild,  as  tame,  and  as  flabby  as  a  sleeping 
jelly-fish, — and  in  this  inoffensive,  almost  tender  inood  of 
his,  Marcia  pounced  upon  him.  She  looked  ravishingly 
pretty  in  the  moonlight,  with  a  white  wrap  thrown  care- 
lessly round  her  head  and  shoulders,  and  her  bold,  bird-like 
eyes  sparkling  with  excitement  (for  who  that  knows  the 
pleasure  of  sports,  is  not  excited  when  the  fox  is  nearly  run 
to  earth?),  and  she  stood  with  him  beside  one  of  the 
smaller  illuminated  fountains,  raising  her  small  white  hand 
every  now  and  then  to  catch  some  of  the  rainbow  drops, 
and  then  with  a  laugh  she  would  shake  them  off  her  little 
pearly  nails  into  the  air  again.  Poor  Masherville  could  not 
help  gazing  at  her  with  a  lack-lustre  admiration  in  his  pals 
eyes, — and  Marcia,  calculating  every  move  in  her  own 
shrewd  mind,  saw  it.  She  turned  her  head  away  with  a 
petulant  yet  coquettish  movement. 

"  My  patience !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  yew  kin  stare  1 
Yew'll  know  me  again  when  yew  see  me, — say  ?  " 

"  I  should  know  you  anywhere,"  declared  Masherville, 
nervously  fumbling  with  the  string  of  his  eye-glass.  "  It's 
impossible  to  forget  your  face,  Miss  Marcia  1 " 

She  was  silent, — and  kept  that  face  turned  from  him  so 
long  that  the  gentle  little  lord  was  surprised.  He  ap- 
proached her  more  closely  and  took  her  hand — the  hand 
that  had  played  with  the  drops  in  the  fountain.  It  was 
such  an  astonishingly  small  hand — so  very  fragile-looking 
and  tiny,  that  he  was  almost  for  putting  up  his  eye-glass  to 
survey  it,  as  if  it  were  a  separate  object  in  a  museum. 
But  the  faintest  pressure  of  the  delicate  fingers  he  held 
startled  him,  and  sent  the  most  curious  thrill  through  his 
body — and  when  he  spoke  he  was  in  such  a  flutter  that  he 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying. 

"  Miss — Miss  Marcia  ! "  he  stammered,  "  have — have  I 
said — anything  to — to  offend  you  ?  " 

Very  slowly,  and  with  seeming  reluctance,  she  turned 
her  head  towards  him,  and — oh,  thou  mischievous  Puck, 
that  sometimes  takest  upon  thee  the  semblance  of  Eros, 
what  skill  is  thine !  .  .  .  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes — real 
tears — bright,  large  tears  that  welled  up  and  fell  through 
her  long  lashes  in  the  most  beautiful,  touching,  and  becom- 
ing manner !  "  And,"  thought  Marcia  to  herself,  "  if  I 
don't  fetch  him  now,  I  never  will !  "  Lord  Algy  was  quite 
frightened — his  poor  brain  grew  more  and  more  bewildered. 

"  Why — Miss  Marcia  J     I  say  I     Look  here  1"  he  mum- 


340  THELMA. 

bled  in  his  extremity,  squeezing  her  little  hand  tighter  and 
tighter.  "  What — what  have  I  done  !  Good  gracious  1 
You — you  really  mustn't  cry,  you  know — I  say — look 
here !  Marcia !  I  wouldn't  vex  3-011  for  the  world ! ' 

"  Yew  bet  yew  wouldn't !  "  said  Marcia,  with  slow  and 
nasal  plaintiveness.  "  I  like  that !  That's  the  way  yew 
English  talk.  But  yew  kin  hang  round  a  girl  a  whole 
season  and  make  all  her  folks  think  badly  of  her — and — and 
— break  her  heart — yes— that's  so !  "  Here  she  dried  her 
eyes  with  a  filmy  lace  handkerchief.  "  But  don't  yew 
mind  me !  I  kin  bear  it.  I  kin  worry  through  1  "  And 
she  drew  herself  up  with  dignified  resignation — while  Lord 
Algy  stared  wildly  at  her,  his  feeble  mind  in  a  whirl.  Pres- 
ently she  smiled  most  seductively,  and  looked  up  with  her 
dark,  tear- wet  eyes  to  the  moon. 

"  I  guess  it's  a  good  night  for  lovers  !  "  she  said,  sinking 
her  ordinary  tone  to  an  almost  sweet  cadence.  "  But  we're 
not  of  that  sort,  are  we  ?  " 

The  die  was  cast !  She  looked  so  charming — so  irre- 
sistible, that  Masherville  lost  all  hold  over  his  wits. 
Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  put  his  arm  round  her 
waist.  Oh,  what  a  warm,  yielding  waist!  He  drew  her 
close  to  his  breast,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  his  most  valuable 
eyeglass, — and  felt  his  poor  weak  soul  in  a  quiver  of  ex- 
citement at  this  novel  and  delicious  sensation. 

"  We  are — we  are  of  that  sort !  "  he  declared  coura- 
geously. "  Why  should  you  doubt  it,  Marcia  ?  " 

"  I  believe  yew  if  yeiv  say  go,"  responded  Marcia.  "  But 
I  guess  yew're  only  fooling  me  !  " 

"  Fooling  3'ou  ! "  Lord  Algy  was  so  surprised  that  he 
released  her  quite  suddenly  from  his  embrace — so  suddenly 
that  she  was  a  little  frightened.  Was  she  to  lose  him,  after 
all? 

"  Marcia,"  he  continued  mildly,  yet  with  a  certain  manli- 
ness that  did  not  ill  become  him.  "  I — I  hope  I  am  too 
much  of — of  a  gentleman  to — to  '  fool '  any  woman,  least 
of  all  you,  after  I  have,  as  you  say,  compromised  you  in 
society  by  my — ni}'  attentions.  I — I  have  very  little  to  offer 
you — but  such  as  it  is,  is  yours.  In — in  short,  Marcia,  I — 
I  will  try  to  make  }-ou  happy  if  you  can — can  care  for  me 
enough  to — to — marry  me  !  " 

Eureka  1  The  game  was  won !  A  vision  of  Masherville 
Park,  Yorkshire,  that  "  well-timbered  and  highly  desirable 
residence,"  as  the  auctioneers  would  describe  it,  flitted 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  341 

before  Marcia's  eyes, — and,  filled  with  triumph,  she  went 
straight  into  her  lordly  wooer's  arms,  and  kissed  him  with 
thorough  transatlantic  frankness.  She  was  really  grateful 
to  him.  Ever  since  she  had  come  to  England,  she  had 
plotted  and  schemed  to  become  "  my  lady  "  with  all  the 
vigor  of  a  purely  republican  soul, — and  now  at  last,  after 
hard  fighting,  she  had  won  the  prize  for  which  her  soul  had 
yearned.  She  would  in  future  belong  to  the  English 
aristocracy — that  aristocracy  which  her  relatives  in  New 
York  pretended  to  despise,  yet  openly  flattered, — and  with 
her  arms  round  the  trapped  Masherville's  neck,  she  foresaw 
the  delight  she  would  have  in  being  toadied  by  them  as  far 
as  toadyism  could  be  made  to  go. 

She  is  by  no  means  presented  to  the  reader  as  a  favorable 
type  of  her  nation — for,  of  course,  every  one  knows  there 
are  plenty  of  sweet,  unselfish,  guileless  American  girls,  who 
are  absolutely  incapable  of  such  unblushing  marriage- 
scheming  as  hers, — but  what  else  could  be  expected  from 
Marcia  ?  Her  grandfather,  the  navvy,  had  but  recently 
become  endowed  with  Pilgrim-Father  Ancestry, — and  her 
maternal  uncle  was  a  boastful  pork-dealer  in  Cincinnati.  It 
was  her  bounden  duty  to  ennoble  the  family  somehow, — 
surely,  if  any  one  had  a  right  to  be  ambitious,  she  was  that 
one  !  And  wild  proud  dreams  of  her  future  passed  through 
her  brain,  little  Lord  Algy  quivered  meekly  under  her  kiss, 
and  returned  it  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  which  he  was 
capable.  One  or  two  faint  misgivings  troubled  him  as  to 
whether  he  had  not  been  just  a  little  too  hasty  in  making  a 
serious  bona  fide  offer  of  marriage  to  the  young  lady  by 
whose  Pilgrim  progenitors  he  was  not  deceived.  He  knew 
well  enough  what  her  antecedents  were,  and  a  faint  shudder 
crossed  him  as  he  thought  of  the  pork-dealing  uncle,  who 
would,  by  marriage,  become  his  uncle  also.  He  had  long 
been  proud  of  the  fact  that  the  house  of  Masherville  had 
never,  through  the  course  of  centuries,  been  associated, 
even  in  the  remotest  manner  with  trade — and  now ! 

"  Yet,  after  all,"  he  mused,  "  the  Marquis  of  Londonderry 
openly  advertises  himself  as  a  coal-merchant,  and  the 
brothers-in-law  of  the  Princess  Louise  are  in  the  wine  trade 
and  stock-broking  business, — and  all  the  old  knightly 
blood  of  England  is  mingling  itself  by  choice  with  that  of 
the  lowest  commoners — what's  the  use  of  my  remaining 
aloof,  and  refusing  to  go  with  the  spirit  of  the  age  ? 
Besides,  Marcia  loves  me,  and  it's  pleasant  to  be  loved  ! " 


342  THELMA. 

Poor  Lord  Algy.  He  certainly  thought  there  could  be 
no  question  about  Marcia's  affection  for  him.  He  little 
dreamed  that  it  was  to  his  title  and  position  she  had  be- 
come so  deeply  attached, — he  could  not  guess  that  after  he 
had  married  her  there  would  be  no  more  Lord  Masherville 
worth  mentioning — that  that  individual,  once  independent, 
would  be  entirely  swallowed  up  and  lost  in  the  dashing  per- 
sonality of  Lady  Masherville,  who  would  rule  her  husband 
as  with  a  rod  of  iron. 

He  was  happily  ignorant  of  his  future,  and  he  walked  in 
the  gardens  for  some  time  with  his  arm  round  Marcia's 
waist,  in  a  very  placid  and  romantic  frame  of  mind.  By- 
and-by  he  escorted  her  into  the  house,  where  the  dancing 
was  in  full  swing — and  she,  with  a  sweet  smile,  bidding  him 
wait  for  her  in  the  refreshment-room,  sought  for  and  found 
her  mother,  who  as  usual,  was  seated  in  a  quiet  corner  with 
Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle,  talking  scandal. 

"  Well  ?  "  exclaimed  these  two  ladies,  simultaneously  and 
breathlessly. 

Marcia's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Guess  he  came  in  as  gently  as 
a  lamb  !  "  she  said. 

They  understood  her.  Mrs.  Rush-Marvelle  rose  from  her 
chair  in  her  usual  stately  and  expensive  manner. 

"I  congratulate  you,  my  dear!"  kissing  Marcia  affec- 
tionately on  both  cheeks.  "  Bruce  Errington  would  have 
been  a  better  match, — but,  under  the  circumstances, 
Masherville  is  really  about  the  best  thing  you  could  do. 
You'  11  find  him  quite  easy  to  manage!  "  This  with  an  air 
as  though  she  were  recommending  a  quiet  pony. 

"  That's  so !  "  said  Marcia  carelessly,  "  I  guess  we'll  pull 

together  somehow.     Mar-ma,"  to  her   mother — "  yew  kin 

turn  on  the  news  to  all  the  folks  yew  meet — the  more  talk 

the  better  I     I'm  not   partial  to   secrets  I  "     And  with  a 

.laugh,  she  turned  away. 

Then  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  laid  her  plump,  diamond-ringed 
hand  on  that  of  her  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Marvelle. 

"  You  have  managed  the  whole  thing  beautifully,"  she 
said,  with  a  grateful  heave  of  her  ample  bosom.  "  Such  a 
clever  creature  as  you  are !  "  She  dropped  her  voice  to  a 
mysterious  whisper.  "  You  shall  have  that  cheque  to-mor- 
row, my  love !  " 

Mrs.  Rush-Maryelle  pressed  her  fingers  cordially. 

"  Don't  hurry  yourself  about  it !  " — she  returned  in  the 
same  confidential  tone.  "  I  dare  say  you'll  want  me  to  ar- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  343 

range  the  wedding  and  the  '  crush  '  afterwards.  I  can  wait 
till  then." 

u  No,  no !  that's  a  separate  affair,"  declared  Mrs.  Tan 
Clupp.  "  I  must  insist  on  your  taking  the  promised  two 
hundred.  You've  been  really  so  very  energetic  !  " 

"  Well,  I  have  worked  rather  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Marvelle, 
with  modest  self-consciousness.  "  You  see  nowadays  it's 
so  difficult  to  secure  suitable  husbands  for  the  girls  who 
ought  to  have  them.  Men  are  such  slippery  creatures  !  " 

She  sighed — and  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  echoed  the  sigh, — 
and  then  these  two  ladies, — the  nature  of  whose  intimacy 
may  now  be  understood  by  the  discriminating  reader, — 
went  together  to  search  out  those  of  their  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances who  were  among  the  guests  that  night,  and 
to  announce  to  them  (in  the  strictest  confidence,  of  course  !) 
the  delightful  news  of  "  dear  Marcia's  engagement."  Thelma 
heard  of  it,  and  went  at  once  to  proffer  her  congratulations 
to  Marcia  in  person. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  very,  very  happy  !  "  she  said  simply, 
yet  with  such  grave  earnestness  in  her  look  and  voice  that 
the  "  Yankee  gel "  was  touched  to  a  certain  softness  and 
seriousness  not  at  all  usual  with  her,  and  became  so  win- 
ning and  gentle  to  Lord  Algy  that  he  felt  in  the  seventh 
heaven  of  delight  with  his  new  position  as  affianced  lover  to 
so  charming  a  creature. 

Meanwhile  George  Lorimer  and  Pierre  Dupr&z  were 
chatting  together  in  the  library.  It  was  very  quiet  there, 
— the  goodly  rows  of  books,  the  busts  of  poets  and  philoso- 
phers,-^-the  large,  placid  features  of  the  Pallas  Athene 
crowning  an  antique  pedestal, — the  golden  pipes  of  the 
organ  gleaming  through  the  shadows, — all  these  gave  a 
solemn,  almost  sacred  aspect  to  the  room.  The  noise  of  the 
dancing  and  festivity  in  the  distant  picture-gallery  did  not 
penetrate  here,  and  Lorimer  sate  at  the  organ,  drawing  out 
ct  few  plaintive  strains  from  its  keys  as  he  talked. 

"  It's  your  fancy,  Pierre,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Thelma 
may  be  a  little  tired  to-day,  perhaps — but  I  know  she's  per- 
fectly happy." 

"  I  think  not  so,"  returned  Duprez.  "  She  has  not  the 
brightness — the  angel  look —  les  yeux  cf'  enfant, — that  we 
beheld  in  her  at  that  far  Norwegian  Fjord.  Britta  is 
anxious  for  her." 

Lorimer  looked  up,  and  smiled  a  little. 


344  THELMA. 

"  Britta  ?  It's  always  Britta  with  you,  mon  cherf  One 
would  think "  he  paused  and  laughed. 

"  Think  what  you  please  !  "  exclaimed  Duprez,  with  a 
defiant  snap  of  his  fingers.  "  I  would  not  give  that  little 
person  for  all  the  grandes  dames  here  to-day !  She  is 
charming — and  she  is  true  ! — Mafoi  !  to  be  true  to  any  one 
is  a  virtue  in  this  age  1  I  tell  you,  my  good  bo}7,  there  is 
something  sorrowful — heavy — on  la  belle  Thelma's  mind — 
and  Britta,  who  sees  her  always,  feels  it — but  she  cannot 
speak.  One  thing  I  will  tell  you — it  is  a  pity  she  is  so 
fond  of  Miladi  Winsleigh." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Lorimer,  with  some  eagerness. 

"  Because "  he  stopped  abruptly  as  a  white  figure 

suddenly  appeared  at  the  doorway,  and  a  musical  voice  ad- 
dressed them — 

"  Why,  what  are  you  both  doing  here,  away  from  every- 
body ?  "  and  Thelma  smiled  as  she  approached.  "  You  are 
hermits,  or  you  are  lazy !  People  are  going  in  to  supper. 
Will  you  not  come  also  ?  " 

"  Mafoi !  "  exclaimed  Duprez  ;  "  I  had  forgotten  !  I 
have  promised  your  most  charming  mother,  cher  Lorimer, 
to  take  her  in  to  this  same  supper.  I  must  fly  upon  the 
wings  of  chivalry  !  " 

And  with  a  laugh,  he  hurried  off,  leaving  Thelma  and 
Lorimer  alone  together.  She  sank  rather  wearily  into  a 
chair  near  the  organ,  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Play  me  something  !  "  she  said  softly. 

A  strange  thrill  quivered  through  him  as  he  met  her  eyes 
— the  sweet,  deep,  earnest  eyes  of  the  woman  he  loved. 
For  it  was  no  use  attempting  to  disguise  it  from  himself 
— he  loved  her  passionately,  wildly,  hopelessly  ;  as  he  had 
loved  her  from  the  first. 

Obedient  to  her  wish,  his  fingers  wandered  over  the 
organ-keys  in  a  strain  of  solemn,  weird,  yet  tender  melan- 
choly— the  grand,  rich  notes  pealed  forth  sobbingly — and 
she  listened,  her  hands  clasped  idly  in  her  lap.  Presently 
he  changed  the  theme  to  one  of  more  heart-appealing  pas- 
sion— and  a  strange  wild  minor  air,  like  the  rushing  of  the 
wind  across  the  mountains,  began  to  make  itself  heard 
through  the  subdued  rippling  murmur  of  his  improvised 
accompaniment.  To  his  surprise  and  fear,  she  started  up, 
pressing  her  hands  against  her  ears. 

"  Not  that — not  that  song,  my  friend !  "  she  cried,  almost 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  345 

imploringly.  "  Oh,  it  will  break  my  heart  I  Oh,  the  Al- 
tenfjord !  "  And  she  gave  way  to  a  passion  of  weeping. 

"  Thelma  !  Thelma !  "  and  poor  Lorimer,  rising  from  the 
organ,  stood  gazing  at  her  in  piteous  dismay, — every  nerve 
in  his  body  wrung  to  anguish  by  the  sound  of  her  sobbing. 
A  mad  longing  seized  him  to  catch  her  in  his  arms, — to 
gather  her  and  her  sorrows,  whatever  they  were,  to  his 
heart ! — and  he  had  much  ado  to  restrain  himself. 

''  Thelma,"  he  presently  said,  in  a  gentle  voice  that 
trembled  just  a  little,  "Thelma,  what  is  troubling  you  ? 
You  call  me  your  brother — give  me  a  brother's  right  to 
your  confidence."  He  bent  over  her  and  took  her  hand. 
"  I — I  can't  bear  to  see  you  cry  like  this !  Tell  me — what's 
the  matter  ?  Let  me  fetch  Philip." 

She  looked  up  with  wild  wet  eyes  and  quivering  lips. 

"  Oh  no — no !  "  she  murmured,  in  a  tone  of  entreaty  and 
alarm.  "  Do  not, — Philip  must  not  know — I  do  wish  him 
always  to  see  me  bright  and  cheerful — and — it  is  nothing ! 
It  is  that  I  heard  something  which  grieved  me " 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  Lorimer,  remembering  Duprez's 
recent  remarks. 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  tell  you  ! "  she  said  eagerly,  drying  her 
eyes  and  endeavoring  to  smile, "  because  I  am  sure  it  was  a 
mistake,  and  all  wrong — and  I  was  foolish  to  fancy  that 
such  a  thing  could  be,  even  for  a  moment.  But  when  on* 
does  not  know  the  world,  it  seems  cruel " 

"  Thelma,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  and  George  surveyed  her 
in  some  perplexity.  "  If  any  one's  been  bothering  or  vex- 
ing you,  just  you  tell  Phil  all  about  it.  Don't  have  any 
secrets  from  him, — he'll  soon  put  everything  straight,  what- 
ever it  is." 

She  shook  her  head  slightly.  "  Ah,  you  do  not  under- 
stand !  "  she  said  pathetically,  c-  how  should  you  ?  Because 
you  have  not  given  your  life  away  to  any  one,  and  it  is 
all  different  with  you.  But  when  you  do  love — if  you  are 
at  all  like  me, — you  will  be  so  anxious  to  always  seem 
worthy  of  love — and  you  will  hide  all  your  griefs  away 
from  your  beloved, — so  that  your  constant  presence  shall 
not  seem  tiresome.  And  I  would  not  for  all  the  world 
trouble  Philip  with  my  silly  fancies — because  then  he 
might  grow  more  weary  still " 

u  Weary  !  "  interrupted  Lorimer,  in  an  accent  of  emphatic 
surprise.  "  Why,  you  don't  suppose  Phil's  tired  of  you, 


346  THELMA. 

Thelma?  That  is  nonsense  indeed!  He  worships  you! 
Who's  been  putting  such  notions  into  your  head  ?  " 

She  rose  from  her  chair  quite  cairn  and  very  pale,  and 
laid  her  two  trembling  hands  in  his. 

"  Ah,  you  also  will  mistake  me,"  she  said,  with  touching 
sweetness,  "  like  so  many  others  who  think  me  strange  in 
my  speech  and  manner.  I  am  sorry  I  am  not  like  other 
women, — but  I  cannot  help  it.  What  I  do  wish  you  to  under- 
stand is  that  I  never  suppose  anything  against  my  Philip 
— he  is  the  noblest  and  best  of  men  !  And  you  must 
promise  not  to  tell  him  that  I  was  so  foolish  as  to  cry  just 
now  because  you  played  that  old  song  I  sang  to  you  both 
so  often  in  Norway — it  was  because  I  felt  a  little  sad — but 
it  was  only  a  fancy, — and  I  would  not  have  him  troubled 
with  such  things.  Will  you  promise  ?  " 

"  But  what  has  made  you  sad  ?  "  persisted  Lorimer,  still 
puzzled. 

"  Nothing — nothing  indeed,"  she  answered,  with  almost 
feverish  earnestness.  "  You  yourself  are  sometimes  sad, 
and  can  you  tell  why  ?  " 

Lorimer  certainly  could  have  told  why, — but  he  remained 
silent,  and  gently  kissed  the  little  hands  he  held. 

"  Then  I  mustn't  tell  Philip  of  your  sadness  ?  "  he  asked 
softly,  at  last.  "  But  will  you  tell  him  }Tourself,  Thelma  ? 
Depend  upon  it,  it's  much  better  to  have  no  secrets  from 
him.  The  least  grief  of  yours  would  affect  him  more  than 
the  downfall  of  a  kingdom.  You  know  how  dearly  he  loves 
you !  " 

"  Yes — I  know  1  "  she  answered,  and  her  eyes  brightened 
slowly.  "  And  that  is  why  I  wish  him  always  to  see  me 
happy  !  "  She  paused,  and  then  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I 
would  rather  die,  my  friend,  than  vex  him  for  one  hour  !  " 

George  still  held  her  hands  and  looked  wistfully  in  her 
face.  He  was  about  to  speak  again,  when  a  cold,  courteous 
voice  interrupted  them. 

"  Lady  Errington,  may  I  have  the  honor  of  taking  you 
in  to  supper  ?  " 

It  was  Sir  Francis  Lennox.  He  had  entered  quite  noise- 
lessly— his  footsteps  making  no  sound  on  the  thick  velvet- 
pile  carpet,  and  he  stood  quite  close  to  Lorimer,  who 
dropped  Thelma's  hands  hastily  and  darted  a  suspicious 
glance  at  the  intruder.  But  Sir  Francis  was  the  very  pic- 
ture of  unconcerned  and  'bland  politeness,  and  offered 
Thelma  his  arm  with  the  graceful  ease  of  an  accomplished 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  347 

courtier.  She  was,  perforce,  compelled  to  accept  it — and 
she  was  slightly  confused,  though  she  could  not  have  told 
why. 

"  Sir  Philip  has  been  looking  everywhere  for  you,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Francis  amicably.  "And  for  you  also,"  he  added, 
turning  slightly  to  Lorimer.  "  I  trust  I've  not  abruptly 
broken  off  a  pleasant  tete-a-tete  ?  " 

Lorimer  colored  hotly.  u  Not  at  all,"  he  said  rather 
brusquely.  "  I've  been  strumming  on  the  organ,  and  Lady 
Errington  has  been  good  enough  to  listen  to  me." 

"  You  do  not  s/rum,"  said  Thelma,  with  gentle  reproach. 
"  You  play  very  beautifully." 

"  Ah  !  a  charming  accomplishment !  "  observed  Sir  Fran- 
cis, with  his  under-glance  and  covert  smile,  as  they  all  three 
wended  their  way  out  of  the  library.  "  I  regret  I  have 
never  had  time  to  devote  myself  to  acquiring  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  arts.  In  music  I  am  a  positive  ignoramus  1  I 
can  hold  my  own  best  in  the  field." 

"  Yes,  you're  a  great  adept  at  hunting,  Lennox,"  re- 
marked Lorimer  suddenly,  with  something  sarcastic  in  his 
tone.  "  I  suppose  the  quarry  never  escapes  you  ?  " 

"  Seldom  1  "  returned  Sir  Francis  coolly.  "  Indeed,  I 
think  I  may  say,  never  1  " 

And  with  that,  he  passed  into  the  supper-room,  elbowing 
a  way  for  Thelma,  till  he  succeeded  in  placing  her  near  the 
head  of  the  table,  where  she  was  soon  busily  occupied  in 
entertaining  her  guests  and  listening  to  their  chatter  ;  and 
Lorimer,  looking  at  her  once  or  twice,  saw,  to  his  great 
relief,  that  all  traces  of  her  former  agitation  had  disap- 
peared, leaving  her  face  fair  and  radiant  as  a  spring  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  A  generous  fierceness  dwells  with  innocence, 
And  conscious  virtue  is  allowed  some  pride." 

DRYDEN. 

THE  melancholy  days  of  autumn  came  on  apace,  and  by- 
and-by  the  Manor  was  deserted.  The  Bruce-Errington  es- 
tablishment removed  again  to  town,  where  business,  con- 
nected with  his  intending  membership  for  Parliament,  occu- 
pied Sir  Philip  from  morning  till  night.  The  old  insidious 
feeling  of  depression  returned  and  hovered  over  Thelma's 
mind  like  a  black  bird  of  ill  omen,  and  though  she  did  her 


348  THELMA. 

best  to  shake  it  off  she  could  not  succeed.  People  began  to 
notice  her  deepening  seriousness  and  the  wistful  melancholy 
of  her  blue  eyes,  and  made  their  remarks  thereon  when 
they  saw  her  at  Marcia  Van  Clupp's  wedding,  an  event 
which  came  off  brilliantly  at  the  commencement  of  Novem- 
ber, and  which  was  almost  entirely  presided  over  by  Mrs. 
Rush-Marvelle.  That  far-seeing  matron  had  indeed  urged 
on  the  wedding  by  every  delicate  expedient  possible. 

"  Long  engagements  are  a  great  mistake,"  she  told 
Marcia, — then,  in  a  warning  undertone  she  added,  "  Men 
are  capricious  nowadays, — they're  all  so  much  in  demand, 
— better  take  Masherville  while  he's  in  the  humor." 

Marcia  accepted  this  hint  and  took  him, — and  Mrs.  Rush- 
Marvelle  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she  saw  the  twain 
safely  married,  and  oft'  to  the  Continent  on  their  honeymoon- 
trip, — Marcia  all  sparkling  and  triumphant, — Lord  Algy 
tremulous  and  feebly  ecstatic. 

"  Thank  Heaven  that's  over ! :'  she  said  to  her  polite  and 
servile  husband.  "  I  never  had  such  a  troublesome  busi- 
ness in  my  life !  That  girl's  been  nearly  two  seasons  on 
my  hands,  and  I  think  five  hundred  guineas  not  a  bit  too 
much  for  all  I've  done." 

"  Not  a  bit — not  a  bit  1  "  agreed  Mr.  Marvelle  warmly. 
"  Have  they — have  they "  here  he  put  on  a  most  benev- 
olent side-look — "  quite  settled  with  you,  my  dear?" 

"  Every  penny,"  replied  Mrs.  Marvelle  calmly.  "  Old 
Tan  Clupp  paid  me  the  last  hundred  this  morning.  And 
poor  Mrs.  Van  Clupp  is  so  very  grateful  I  "  She  sighed 
placidly,  and  appeared  to  meditate.  Then  she  smiled 
sweetly  and,  approaching  Mr.  Marvelle,  patted  his  shoulder 
caressingly.  "  I  think  well  do  the  Italian  lakes,  dear — 
what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Charming — charming  !  "  declared,  not  her  lord  and 
master,  but  her  slave  and  vassal.  "  Nothing  could  be  more 
delightful ! " 

And  to  the  Italian  lakes  accordingly  they  went.  A 
great  many  people  were  out  of  town, — all  who  had  leisure 
and  money  enough  to  liberate  themselves  from  the  ap- 
proaching evils  of  an  English  winter,  had  departed  or  were 
departing, — Beau  Lovelace  had  gone  to  Como, — George 
Lorimer  had  returned  with  Duprez  to  Paris,  and  Thelma 
had  very  few  visitors  except  Lady  Winsleigh,  who  was 
more  often  with  her  now  than  ever.  In  fact,  her  ladyship 
was  more  like  one  of  the  Emngton  household  than  any- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY  349 

thing  else, — she  came  so  frequently  and  stayed  so  long. 
She  seemed  sincerely  attached  to  Thelma, — and  Thelma 
herself,  too  single-hearted  and  simple  to  imagine  that  such 
affection  could  be  feigned,  gave  her  in  return,  what  Lady 
Winsleigh  had  never  succeeded  in  winning  from  any 
woman, — a  pure,  trusting,  and  utterly  unsuspecting  love, 
such  as  she  would  have  lavished  on  a  twin-born  sister. 
But  there  was  one  person  who  was  not  deceived  by  Lady 
Winsleigh's  charm  of  manner,  and  grace  of  speech.  This 
was  Britta.  Her  keen  eyes  flashed  a  sort  of  un uttered  de- 
fiance into  her  ladyship's  beautiful,  dark  languishing  ones 
— she  distrusted  her,  and  viewed  the  intimacy  between  her 
and  the  "  Froken  "  with  entire  disfavor.  Once  she  ven- 
tured to  express  something  of  her  feeling  on  the  matter  to 
Thelma — but  Thelma  had  looked  so  gently  wondering  and 
reproachful  that  Britta  had  not  courage  to  go  on. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Britta,"  said  her  mistress,  "  that  you  do 
not  like  Lady  Winsleigh — because  I  am  very  fond  of  her. 
You  must  try  to  like  her  for  my  sake." 

But  Britta  pursed  her  lips  and  shook  her  head  obsti- 
nately. However,  she  said  no  more  at  the  time,  and 
decided  within  herself  to  wait  and  watch  the  course  of 
events.  And  in  the  meantime  she  became  very  intimate 
with  Lady  Winsleigh's  maid,  Louise  Renaud,  and  Briggs, 
and  learned  from  these  two  domestic  authorities  many 
things  which  greatly  tormented  and  puzzled  her  little 
braiu, — things  over  which  she  pondered  deeply  without  ar- 
riving at  any  satisfactory  conclusion. 

On  her  return  to  town,  Thelma  had  been  inexpressibly 
shocked  at  the  changed  appearance  of  her  husband's  secre- 
tary, Edward  Neville.  At  first  she  scarcely  knew  him,  he 
had  altered  so  greatly.  Always  inclined  to  stoop,  his 
shoulders  were  now  bent  as  by  the  added  weight  of  twenty 
years — his  hair,  once  only  grizzled,  was  now  quite  grey — 
his  face  was  deeply  sunken  and  pale,  and  his  eyes  by  con- 
trast looked  large  and  wild,  as  though  some  haunting 
thought  were  driving  him  to  madness.  He  shrank  so  nerv- 
ously from  her  gaze,  that  she  began  to  fancy  he  must  have 
taken  some  dislike  to  her, — and  though  she  delicately  re- 
frained from  pressing  questions  upon  him  personally,  she 
spoke  to  her  husband  about  him,  with  real  solicitude.  "  Is 
Mr.  Neville  working  too  hard  ?  "  she  asked  one  day.  "  He 
looks  very  ill," 


350  THELMA. 

Her  remark  seemed  to  embarrass  Philip, — he  colored 
and  seemed  confused. 

"  Does  he  ?  Oh,  I  suppose  he  sleeps  badly.  Yes,  I  re- 
member, he  told  me  so.  You  see,  the  loss  of  his  wife  has 
always  preyed  on  his  mind — he  never  loses  hope  of — of— 
that  is — he  is  always  trying  to — you  know  ! — to  get  her 
back  again." 

"  But  do  you  think  he  will  ever  find  her  ?  "  asked  Thelma. 
"  I  thought  you  said  it  was  a  hopeless  case  ?  " 

"  Well — I  think  so,  certainly — but,  you  see,  it's  no  good 
dashing  his  hopes — one  never  knows — she  might  turn  up 
any  day — it's  a  sort  of  chance !  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  him  to  search  for  her,"  she  said 
compassionately.  "  His  eyes  do  look  so  full  of  sorrow," 
she  paused  and  added  musingly, "  almost  like  Sigurd's  eyes 
sometimes." 

"  Oh,  he's  not  losing  his  wits,"  said  Philip  hastily,  "  he's 
quite  patient,  and — and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Don't 
bother  about  him,  Thelma,  he's  all  right !  " 

And  he  fumbled  hastily  with  some  papers,  and  began  to 
talk  of  something  else.  His  embarrassed  manner  caused 
her  to  wonder  a  little  at  the  time  as  to  the  reason  of  it, — 
but  she  had  many  other  things  to  think  about,  and  she 
soon  forgot  a  conversation  that  might  have  proved  a  small 
guiding-link  in  the  chain  of  events  that  were  soon  about  to 
follow  quickly  one  upon  another,  shaking  her  life  to  its 
very  foundation.  Lady  Winsleigh  found  it  almost  impos- 
sible to  get  her  on  the  subject  of  the  burlesque  actress, 
Violet  Vere,  and  Sir  Philip's  supposed  admiration  for  that 
notorious  stage-siren. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  she  said  firmly,  "  and  you — you 
must  not  believe  it  either,  Clara.  For  wherever  you  heard 
it,  it  is  wrong.  We  should  dishonor  Philip  by  such  a 
thought — you  are  his  friend,  and  I  am  his  wife — we  are  not 
the  ones  to  believe  anything  against  him,  even  if  it  could  be 
proved — and  there  are  no  proofs." 

"  My  dear,"  responded  her  ladyship  easily.  "  You  can 
get  proofs  for  yourself  if  you  like.  For  instance,  ask  Sir 
Philip  how  often  he  has  seen  Miss  Vere  lately, — and  hear 
what  he  says." 

Thelma  colored  deeply.  "  I  would  not  question  my  hus- 
band on  such  a  subject,"  she  said  proudly. 

"  Oh  well !  if  you  are  so  fastidious  1  "  And  Lady  Wins- 
leigh shrugged  her  shoulders. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  351 

"  I  am  not  fastidious,"  returned  Thelma,  "  only  I  do  wish 
to  be  worthy  of  his  love, — and  I  should  not  be  so  if  I 
doubted  him.  No,  Clara,  I  will  trust  him  to  the  end." 

Clara  Winsleigh  drew  nearer  to  her,  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Even  if  he  were  unfaithful  to  you  ?  ''  she  asked  in  a  low, 
impressive  tone. 

"  Unfaithful !  "  Thelma  uttered  the  word  with  a  little  cry. 
"  Clara,  dear  Clara,  you  must  not  say  such  a  word  !  Un- 
faithful !  That  means  that  my  husband  would  love  some 
one  more  than  me  ! — ah  !  that  is  impossible  !  " 

"  Suppose  it  were  possible  ?  "  persisted  Lady  Winsleigh. 
with  a  cruel  light  in  her  dark  eyes.  "  Such  things  have 
been  !  " 

Thelma  stood  motionless,  a  deepl^mournful  expression  on 
her  fair,  pale  face.  She  seemed  to  think  for  a  moment,  then 
she  spoke. 

"  I  would  never  believe  it !  "  she  said  solemnly.  "  Never, 
unless  I  heard  it  from  his  own  lips,  or  saw  it  in  his  own 
writing,  that  he  was  weary  of  me,  and  wanted  me  no  more." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Then  " — she  drew  a  quick  breath — "  I  should  know 
what  to  do.  But,  Clara,  you  must  understand  me  well, 
even  if  this  were  so,  I  should  never  blame  him — no — not 
once !  " 

"  Not  blame  him  ?  "  cried  Lady  Winsleigh  impatiently. 
"  Not  blame  him  for  infidelity  ?  " 

A  deep  blush  swept  over  her  face  at  the  hated  word  "  in- 
fidelity," but  she  answered  steadily — 

"  No.  Because,  you  see,  it  would  be  my  fault,  not  his. 
When  you  hold  a  flower  in  your  hand  for  a  long  time,  till 
all  its  fragrance  has  gone,  and  you  drop  it  because  it  no 
longer  smells  sweetly — you  are  not  to  blame — it  is  natural 
you  should  wish  to  have  something  fresh  and  fragrant, — it 
is  the  flower's  fault  because  it  could  not  keep  its  scent  long 
enough  to  please  you.  Now,  if  Philip  were  to  love  me  no 
longer,  I  should  be  like  that  flower,  and  how  would  he  be  to 
blame  ?  He  would  be  good  as  ever,  but  I — I  should  have 
ceased  to  seem  pleasant  to  him — that  is  all !  " 

She  put  this  strange  view  of  the  case  quite  calmly,  as  if 
it  were  the  only  solution  to  the  question.  Lady  Winsleigh 
heard  her,  half  in  contemptuous  amusement,  half  in  dismay. 
"  What  can  I  do  with  such  a  woman  as  this,"  she  thought. 
"  And  fancy  Lennie  imagining  for  a  moment  that  he  could 
have  any  power  over  her  '  '  Aloud,  she  said — ; 


352  THELMA. 

"  Thelma,  you're  the  oddest  creature  going — a  regular 
heathen  child  from  Norway  !  You've  set  up  your  husband 
as  an  idol,  and  you're  alwaj-s  on  your  knees  before  him.  It's 
awfully  sweet  of  you,  but  it's  quite  absurd,  all  the  same. 
Angelic  wives  always  get  the  worst  of  it,  and  so  you'll  see  ! 
Haven't  you  heard  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  it,'  she  answered,  smiling  a  little. 
"  But  only  since  I  came  to  London.  In  Norway,  it  is 
taught  to  women  that  to  be  patient  and  obedient  is  best  for 
every  one.  It  is  not  so  here.  But  I  am  not  an  angelic 
wife,  Clara,  and  so  the  '  worst  of  it '  will  not  apply  to  me. 
Indeed,  I  do  not  know  of  any  '  worst '  that  I  would  not 
bear  for  Philip's  sake." 

Lady  Winslelgh  stti^ied  the  lovely  face,  eloquent  with 
love  and  truth,  for  some  moments  in  silence  ; — a  kind  of  com- 
punction pricked  her  conscience.  Why  destroy  all  that 
beautiful  faith  ?  Why  wound  that  grandly  trusting  nature  ? 
The  feeling  was  but  momentary. 

"  Philip  does  run  after  the  Vere,"  she  said  to  herself — 
"  it's  true,  there's  no  mistake  about  it,  and  she  ought  to 
know  of  it.  But  she  won't  believe  without  proofs — what 
proofs  can  I  get,  I  wonder  ?  "  And  her  scheming  brain  set 
to  work  to  solve  this  problem. 

In  justice  to  her,  it  must  be  admitted,  she  had  a  good 
deal  of  seeming  truth  on  her  side.  Sir  Philip's  name  had 
somehow  got  connected  with  that  of  the  leading  actress  at 
the  Brilliant,  and  more  people  than  Lady  Winsleigh  began 
to  make  jocose  whispering  comments  on  his  stage  "  amour" 
— comments  behind  his  back,  which  he  was  totally  unaware 
of.  Nobody  knew  quite  how  the  rumor  had  first  been 
started.  Sir  Francis  Lennox  seemed  to  know  a  good  deal 
about  it,  and  he  was  an  u  intimate  "  of  the  "  Vere  "  magic 
circle  of  attraction.  And  though  the}'  talked,  no  one  ven- 
tured to  say  anything  to  Sir  Philip  himself; — the  only  two 
among  his  friends  who  would  have  spoken  out  honestly 
were  Beau  Lovelace  and  Lorimer,  and  these  were  absent. 

One  evening,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  Sir  Philip 
went  out  after  the  late  dinner.  Before  leaving,  he  kissed 
his  wife  tenderly,  and  told  her  on  no  account  to  sit  up  for 
him — he  and  Neville  were  going  to  attend  to  a  little  matter 
of  business  which  might  detain  them  longer  than  they 
could  calculate.  After  they  had  gone,  Thelma  resigned 
herself  to  a  lonely  evening,  and,  stirring  the  fire  in  the 
drawing-room  to  a  cheerful  blaze,  she  sat  down  beside  it, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  353 

First,  she  amused  herself  by  reading  over  some  letters  re- 
cently received  from  her  father, — and  then,  yielding  to  a 
sudden  fancy,  she  drew  her  spinning-wheel  from  the  corner 
where  it  always  stood,  and  set  it  in  motion.  She  had  little 
time  for  spinning  now,  but  she  irver  quite  gave  it  up,  and 
as  the  low,  familiar  whirring  sound  hummed  pleasantly  on 
her  ears,  she  smiled,  thinking  how  quaint  and  almost  in- 
congruous her  simple  implement  of  industry  looked  among 
all  the  luxurious  furniture,  and  costly  nick-nacks  by  which 
she  was  surrounded. 

"  I  ought  to  have  one  of  my  old  gowns  on,"  she  half  mur- 
mured, glancing  down  at  the  pale-blue  silk  robe  she  wore, 
u  I  am  too  fine  to  spin  !  " 

And  she  almost  laughed  as  the  wheel  flew  round  swiftly 
under  her  graceful  manipulations.  Listening  to  its  whirr, 
whirr,  whirr,  she  scarcely  heard  a  sudden  knock  at  the 
street-door,  and  was  quite  startled  when  the  servant,  Mor- 
ris, announced — 

"  Sir  Francis  Lennox  !  " 

Surprised,  she  rose  from  her  seat  at  the  spinning-wheel 
with  a  slight  air  of  hauteur.  Sir  Francis,  who  had  never 
in  his  life  seen  a  lady  of  title  and  fashion  in  London  en- 
gaged in  the  primitive  occupation  of  spinning,  was  entirely 
delighted  with  the  picture  before  him, — the  tall,  lovely 
woman  with  her  gold  hair  and  shimmering  blue  draperies, 
standing  with  such  stateliness  beside  the  simple  wooden 
wheel,  the  antique  emblem  of  household  industry.  In- 
stinctively he  thought  of  Marguerite  ; — but  Marguerite  as 
a  crowned  queen,  superior  to  all  temptations  of  either  man 
or  fiend. 

"  Sir  Philip  is  out,"  she  said,  as  she  suffered  him  to  take 
her  hand. 

"  So  I  was  aware  !  "  returned  Lennox  easily.  "  I  saw  him 
a  little  while  ago  at  the  door  of  the  Brilliant  Theatre." 

She  turned  very  pale, — then  controlling  the  rapid  beating 
of  her  heart  by  a  strong  effort,  she  forced  a  careless  smile, 
and  said  bravely — 

"  Did  you  ?  I  am  very  glad — for  he  will  have  some 
amusement  there,  perhaps,  and  that  will  do  him  good.  He 
has  been  working  so  hard  !  " 

She  paused.  He  said  nothing,  and  she  went  on  more 
cheerfully  still — 

"  Is  it  not  a  very  dismal,  wet  evening !     Yes  ! — and  you 
must  be  cold.     Will  you  have  some  tea  ?  " 
33 


354  THELMA. 

"  Tha-anks  1 "  drawled  Sir  Francis,  staring  at  her  admir- 
ingly. <¥  If  it's  not  too  much  trouble " 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  Thelma.  "  Why  should  it  be  ?  "  And  she 
rang  the  bell  and  gave  the  order.  Sir  Francis  sank  lazily 
back  in  an  easy  chair,  and  stroked  his  moustache  slowly. 
He  knew  that  his  random  hit  about  the  theatre  had  struck 
home, — but  she  allowed  the  arrow  to  pierce  and  possibly 
wound  her  heart  without  showing  any  outward  sign  of  dis- 
composure. "  A  plucky  woman !  "  he  considered,  and  won- 
dered how  he  should  make  his  next  move.  She.  meanwhile, 
smiled  at  him  frankly,  and  gave  a  light  twirl  to  her  spin- 
ning-wheel. 

"  You  see  ! "  she  said,  "  I  was  amusing  myself  this 
evening  by  imagining  that  I  was  once  more  at  home  in 
Norway." 

"  Pray  don't  let  me  interrupt  the  amusement,"  he  re- 
sponded, with  a  sleepy  look  of  satisfaction  shooting  from 
beneath  his  ey elids.  "  Go  on  spinning,  Lady  Errington  1 
.  .  .  I've  never  seen  any  one  spin  before." 

At  that  moment  Morris  appeared  with  the  tea,  and 
handed  it  to  Sir  Francis, — Thelma  took  none,  and  as  the 
servant  retired,  she  quietly  resumed  her  occupation.  There 
was  a  short  silence,  only  broken  by  the  hum  of  the  wheel. 
Sir  Francis  sipped  his  tea  with  a  meditative  air,  and  studied 
the  fair  woman  before  him  as  critically  as  he  would  have 
studied  a  picture. 

"  I  hope  I'm  not  in  your  way  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly.  She 
looked  up  surprised. 

"  Oh  no — only  I  am  sorry  Philip  is  not  here  to  talk  to 
you.  It  would  be  so  much  pleasanter." 

"  Would  it  ?  "  he  murmured  rather  rather  dubiously  and 
smiling.  "  Well — I  shall  be  quite  contented  if  you  will  talk 
to  me,  Lady  Errington  1  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  am  not  at  all  clever  in  conversation,"  re- 
sponded Thelma  quite  seriously.  "  I  am  sure  you,  as  well 
as  many  others,  must  have  noticed  that.  I  never  do  seem 
to  say  exactly  the  right  thing  to  please  everybody.  Is  it 
not  very  unfortunate  ?  " 

He  laughed  a  little.  "  I  have  yet  to  learn  in  what  way 
you  do  not  please  everybody,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice  to 
a  low,  caressing  cadence.  "  Who,  that  sees  you,  does  not 
admire — and — and  love  you  ?  " 

She  met  lus  languorous  gaze  without  embarrassment,— 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  355 

while  the  childlike  openness  of  her  regard  confused  and 
slightly  shamed  him. 

"  Admire  me  ?  Oh  yes !  "  she  said  somewhat  plaintively. 
"  It  is  that  of  which  I  am  so  weary  1  Because  God  has 
made  one  pleasant  in  form  and  face, — to  be  stared  at  and 
whispered  about,  and  have  all  one's  dresses  copied ! — all 
that  is  so  small  and  common  and  mean,  and  does  vex  me  so 
much ! " 

"  It  is  the  penalty  you  pay  for  being  beautiful,"  said  Sir 
Francis  slowly,  wondering  within  himself  at  the  extraor- 
dinary incongruity  of  a  feminine  creature  who  was  actually 
tired  of  admiration. 

She  made  no  reply — the  wheel  went  round  faster  than  be- 
fore. Presently  Lennox  set  aside  his  emptied  cup,  and 
drawing  his  chair  a  little  closer  to  hers,  asked — 

"  When  does  Errington  return  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "  He  said  that  he 
might  be  late.  Mr.  Neville  is  with  him." 

There  was  another  silence.  "  Lady  Errington,"  said  Sir 
Francis  abruptly — "  pray  excuse  me — I  speak  as  a  friend, 
and  in  your  interests, — how  long  is  this  to  last?" 

The  wheel  stepped.  She  raised  her  eyes, — they  were 
grave  and  steady. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  returned  quietly.  "  What 
is  it  that  you  mean  ?  " 

He  hesitated — then  went  on,  with  lowered  eyelids  and  a 
half-smile. 

"  I  mean — what  all  our  set's  talking  about — Errington's 
queer  fancy  for  that  actress  at  the  Brilliant." 

Thelma  still  gazed  at  him  fixedly.  "  It  is  a  mistake," 
she  said  resolutely,  "  altogether  a  mistake.  And  as  you  are 
his  friend,  Sir  Francis,  you  will  please  contradict  this  re- 
port— which  is  wrong,  and  may  do  Philip  harm.  It  has  no 
truth  in  it  at  all " 

"  Xo  truth !  "  exclaimed  Lennox.  "  It's  true  as  Gospel ! 
Lady  Errington,  I'm  sorry  for  it — but  your  husband  is  de- 
ceiving you  most  shamefully  !  " 

"  How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing  !  "  she  cried,  springing 
upright  and  facing  him, — then  she  stopped  and  grew  very 
pale — but  she  kept  her  eyes  upon  him.  How  bright  they 
were !  What  a  chilling  pride  glittered  in  their  sea-blue 
depths ! 

"  You  are  in  error,"  she  said  coldly.  "  If  it  is  wrong  to 
visit  this  thea.tr©  you  speak  of,  why  are  you  90,  often  seen 


356  THELMA. 

there — and  why  is  not  some  harm  said  of  you  ?  It  is  not 
your  place  to  speak  against  my  husband.  It  is  shameful  and 
treacherous !  You  do  forget  yourself  most  wickedly  1 " 

And  she  moved  to  leave  the  room.  But  Sir  Francis  in- 
terposed. 

"  Lady  Errington,"  he  said  very  gently,  "  don't  be  hard 
upon  me — pray  forgive  me !  Of  course  I've  no  business 
to  speak — but  how  can  I  help  it  ?  When  I  hear  every  one 
at  the  clubs  discussing  you,  and  pitying  you,  it's  impossi- 
ble to  listen  quite  unmoved  1  I'm  the  least  among  your 
friends,  I  know, — but  I  can't  bear  this  sort  of  thing  to  go 
on, — the  whole  affair  will  be  dished  up  in  the  society  papers 
next !  " 

And  he  paced  the  room  half  impatiently, — a  very  well- 
feigned  expression  of  friendly  concern  and  sympathy  on 
his  features.  Thelma  stood  motionless,  a  little  bewildered 
— her  head  throbbed  achingly,  and  there  was  a  sick  sensa- 
tion of  numbness  creeping  about  her. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  all  wrong !  "  she  repeated  with  an  effort. 
"  I  do  not  understand  why  these  people  at  the  clubs  should 
talk  of  me,  or  pity  me.  I  do  not  need  any  pity  !  My  hus- 
band is  all  goodness  and  truth," — she  stopped  and  gathered 
courage  as  she  went  on.  "  Yes  !  he  is  better,  braver,  nobler 
than  all  other  men  in  the  world,  it  seems  to  me !  He  gives 
me  all  the  joy  of  my  life — each  day  and  night  I  thank  God 
for  the  blessing  of  his  love !  " 

She  paused  again.  Sir  Francis  turned  and  looked  at  her 
steadily.  A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  her,  for  she 
advanced  eagerly,  a  sweet  color  flushing  the  pallor  of  her 
skin. 

"  You  can  do  so  much  for  me  if  you  will !  "  she  said,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  You  can  tell  all  these  people 
who  talk  so  foolishly  that  they  are  wrong, — tell  them  how 
happy  I  am  !  And  that  my  Philip  has  never  deceived  me 
in  any  matter,  great  or  small !  " 

"  Never  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  slight  sneer.    "  You  are  sure  ? " 

"  Sure  !  "  she  answered  bravely.  "  He  would  keep  noth- 
ing from  me  that  it  was  necessary  or  good  for  me  to  know. 
And  I — oh !  I  might  pass  all  my  life  in  striving  to  please 
him,  and  yet  I  should  never,  never  be  worthy  of  all  his  ten- 
derness and  goodness  !  And  that  he  goes  many  times  to  a 
theatre  without  me — what  is  it  ?  A  mere  nothing — a  trifle 
to  laugh  at  1  It  is  not  needful  to  tell  me  of  such  a  small 
circumstance  I  " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  357 

As  she  spoke  she  smiled — her  form  seemed  to  dilate  with 
a  sort  of  inner  confidence  and  rapture. 

Sir  Francis  stared  at  her  half  shamed, — half  savage. 
The  beautiful,  appealing  face,  bright  with  simple  trust, 
roused  him  to  no  sort  of  manly  respect  or  forbearance, — the 
very  touch  of  the  blossom-white  hand  she  had  laid  so  inno- 
cently on  his  arm,  stung  his  passion  as  with  a  lash — as  he 
had  said,  he  was  fond  of  hunting — he  had  chased  the  un- 
conscious deer  all  through  the  summer,  and  now  that  it  had 
turned  to  bay  with  such  pitiful  mildness  and  sweet  plead- 
ing, why  not  draw  the  knife  across  its  slim  throat  without 
mercy  ? 

"  Really,  Lady  Errington !  "  he  said  at  last  sarcastically, 
"  your  wifely  enthusiasm  and  confidence  are  indeed  charm- 
ing !  But,  unfortunately,  the  proofs  are  all  against  you. 
Truth  is  truth,  however  much  you  may  wish  to  blind  your 
eyes  to  its  manifestations.  I  sincerely  wish  Sir  Philip  were 
present  to  hear  your  eloquent  praises  of  him,  instead  of  be- 
ing where  he  most  undoubtedly  is, — in  the  arms  of  Violet 
Vere !  " 

As  he  said  these  words  she  started  away  from  him  and 
put  her  hands  to  her  ears  as  though  to  shut  out  some  dis- 
cordant sound — her  eyes  glowed  feverishly.  A  cold  shiver 
shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  That  is  false — false !  "  she  muttered  in  a  low,  choked 
voice.  "  How  can  you — how  dare  you  ?  " 

She  ceased,  and  with  a  swaying,  bewildered  movement,  as 
though  she  were  blind,  she  fell  senseless  at  his  feet. 

In  one  second  he  was  kneeling  beside  her.  He  raised  her 
head  on  his  arm, — he  gazed  eagerly  on  her  fair,  still  features. 
A  dark  contraction  of  his  brows  showed  that  his  thoughts 
were  not  altogether  righteous  ones.  Suddenly  he  laid  her 
down  again  gently,  and,  springing  to  the  door,  locked  it.  . 
Returning,  he  once  more  lifted  her  in  a  half-reclining  posi- 
tion, and  encircling  her  with  his  arms,  drew  her  close  to  his 
breast  and  kissed  her.  He  was  in  no  hurry  for  her  to  re- 
cover— she  looked  very  beautiful — she  was  helpless — she 
was  in  his  power.  The  silvery  ting-ling  of  the  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece  striking  eleven  startled  him  a  little — he  lis- 
tened painfully — he  thought  he  heard  some  one  trying  the 
handle  of  the  door  he  had  locked.  Again — again  he  kissed 
those  pale,  unconscious  lips  !  Presently,  a  slight  shiver 
ran  through  her  frame— she  sighed,  aiid  a  little  moan 
escaped  her.  Gradually,  as  warmth  and  sensation  returned 


358  THELMA. 

to  her,  she  felt  the  pressure  of  his  embrace,  and  mur- 
mured— 

"  Philip !  Darling, — you  have  come  back  earlier, — I 
thought " 

Here  she  opened  her  eyes  and  met  those  of  Sir  Francis, 
who  was  eagerly  bending  over  her.  She  uttered  an  excla- 
mation of  alarm,  and  strove  to  rise.  He  held  her  still  more 
closely. 

"  Thelma — dear,  dearest  Thelma  !  Let  me  comfort  you, 
— let  me  tell  you  how  much  I  love  you  !  " 

And  before  she  could  divine  his  intent,  he  pressed  his  lips 
passionately  on  her  pale  cheek.  With  a  cry  she  tore  her- 
self violently  from  his  arms  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  trembling 
!n  every  limb. 

"  What — what  is  this  ?  "  she  exclaimed  wrathfully.  "  Are 
you  mad  ? " 

And  still  weak  and  confused  from  her  recent  attack  of 
iaintness,  she  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  brows  and  re- 
garded him  with  a  sort  of  puzzled  horror. 

He  flushed  deeply,  and  set  his  lips  hard. 

"I  dare  say  I  am,"  he  answered,  with  a  bitter  laugh; 
"  in  fact,  I  know  I  am !  You  see,  I've  betrayed  my  miser- 
able secret.  Will  you  forgive  me,  Lady  Errington — 
Thelma  ?  "  He  drew  nearer  to  her,  and  his  eyes  darkened 
with  restrained  passion.  "  Matchless  beauty  ! — adorable 
woman,  as  you  are  1 — will  you  not  pardon  my  crime,  if 
crime  it  be — the  crime  of  loving  you  ?  For  I  do  love  you  I 
— Heaven  only  knows  how  utterly  and  desperately  !  " 

She  stood  mute,  white,  almost  rigid,  with  that  strange 
look  of  horror  frozen,  as  it  were,  upon  her  features.  Em- 
boldened by  her  silence,  he  approached  and  caught  her 
hand, — she  wrenched  it  from  his  grasp  and  motioned  him 
from  her  with  a  gesture  of  such  royal  contempt  that  he 
quailed  before  her.  All  suddenly  the  flood-gates  of  her 
speech  were  loosened, — the  rising  tide  of  burning  indigna- 
tion that  in  its  very  force  had  held  her  dumb  and  motion- 
less, now  broke  forth  unrestrainedly. 

"  O  God  1 "  she  cried  impetuously,  a  magnificent  glory  of 
disdain  flashing  in  her  jewel-like  eyes,  "  what  thing  is  this 
that  calls  itself  a  man  ? — this  thief  of  honor, — this  pre- 
tended friend  ?  What  have  I  done,  sir,  that  you  should 
put  such  deep  disgrace  as  your  so-called  love  upon  me? — 
what  have  I  seemed,  that  you  thus  dare  to  outrage  me  by 
the  pollution  of  your  touch?  I, — the  wife  of  the  noblest 


1HE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  359 

gentleman  in  the  Ian:1 !  Ah  1  "  and  she  drew  a  long  breath 
— "  and  it  is  you  who  speak  against  my  husband — you  ! 
She  smiled  scornfully, — then  with  more  calmness  continued 
— "  You  will  leave  my  house,  sir,  at  once  1  ...  and 
never  presume  to  enter  it  again  !  " 

And  she  stepped  towards  the  bell.  He  looked  at  her  with 
an  evil  leer. 

"  Stop  a  moment  1 "  he  said  coolly.  "  Just  one  moment 
before  3rou  ring.  Pray  consider  !  The  servant  cannot  pos- 
sibly enter,  as  the  door  is  locked." 

'•  You  dared  to  lock  the  door  1 "  she  exclaimed,  a  sudden 
fear  chilling  her  heart  as  she  remembered  similar  ma- 
noeuvres on  the  part  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dyceworthy — 
then  another  thought  crossed  her  mind,  and  she  began  to 
retreat  towards  a  large  painted  panel  of"  Venus  "  disport- 
ing among  cupids  and  dolphins  in  the  sea.  Sir  Francis 
sprang  to  her  side,  and  caught  her  arm  in  an  iron  grip — his 
face  was  aflame  with  baffled  spite  and  vindictiveness. 

"  Yes,  I  dared  !  "  he  muttered  with  triumphant  malice. 
"  And  I  dared  do  more  than  that  I  You  lay  unconscious  in 
my  arms, — you  beautiful,  bewitching  Thelma,  and  I  kissed 
you — ay  !  fifty  times !  You  can  never  undo  those  kisses  1 
You  can  never  forget  that  my  lips,  as  well  as  your  hus- 
band's, have  rested  on  yours — I  have  had  that  much  joy 
that  shall  never  be  taken  away  from  me  I  And  if  I  choose, 
even  now," — and  he  gripped  her  more  closely — "  yes,  even 
now  I  will  kiss  you,  in  spite  of  you! — who  is  to  prevent 
me  ?  I  will  force  you  to  love  me,  Thelma " 

Driven  to  bay,  she  struck  him  with  all  her  force  in  the 
face,  across  the  eyes. 

"  Traitor  ! — liar  ! — coward !  "  she  gasped  breathlessly, 
"  Let  me  go  1 " 

Smarting  with  the  pain  of  the  blow,  he  unconsciously 
loosened  his  grasp — she  rushed  to  the  "  Venus  "  panel,  and 
to  his  utter  discomfiture  and  amazement  he  saw  it  open  and 
close  behind  her.  She  disappeared  suddenly  and  noise- 
lessly as  if  by  magic.  With  a  fierce  exclamation,  he  threw 
his  whole  weight  against  that  secret  sliding  door — it  re- 
sisted all  his  efforts.  He  searched  for  the  spring  by  which 
it  must  have  opened, — the  whole  panel  was  perfectly  smooth 
and  apparently  solid,  and  the  painted  "  Venus  "  reclining 
on  her  dolphin's  back  seemed  as  though  she  smiled  mock- 
ingly at  his  rage  and  disappointment. 

While  he   was  examining  it,  he  heard  ths  sudden,  sharp, 


360  THELMA. 

and  continuous  ringing  of  an  electric  bell  somewhere  in  the 
house,  and  with  a  guilty  flush  on  his  face  he  sprang  to  the 
drawing-room  door  and  unlocked  it.  He  was  just  in  time, 
for  scarcely  had  he  turned  the  key,  when  Morris  made  his 
appearance.  That  venerable  servitor  looked  round  the 
room  in  evident  surprise. 

"  Did  her  ladyship  ring  ?  "  he  inquired,  his  eyes  roving 
everywhere  in  search  of  his  mistress.  Sir  Francis  collected 
his  wits,  and  forced  himself  to  seem  composed. 

"  No,"  he  said  coolly.  "  /  rang."  He  adopted  this  false- 
hood as  a  means  of  exit.  "  Call  a  hansom,  will  you  ? " 

And  he  sauntered  easily  into  the  hall,  and  got  on  his  hat 
and  great-coat.  Morris  was  rather  bewildered, — but,  obedi- 
ent to  the  command,  blew  the  summoning  cab-whistle,  which 
was  promptly  answered.  Sir  Francis  tossed  him  half  a 
crown,  and  entered  the  vehicle,  which  clattered  away  with 
him  in  the  direction  of  Cromwell  Road.  Stopping  at  a  par- 
ticular house  in  a  side  street  leading  from  thence,  he  bade 
the  cabman  wait, — and,  ascending  the  steps,  busied  himself 
for  some  moments  in  scribbling  something  rapidly  in  pencil 
on  a  leaf  of  his  note-book  by  the  light  of  the  hanging-lamp 
in  the  doorway.  He  then  gave  a  loud  knock,  and  inquired 
of  the  servant  who  answered  it — 

"  Is  Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir," — the  reply  came  rather  hesitatingly — "  but 
he's  having  a  party  to-night." 

And,  in  fact,  the  scraping  of  violins  and  the  shuffle  of 
dancing  feet  were  distinctly  audible  overhead. 

"  Oh,  well,  just  mention  my  name — Sir  Francis  Lennox. 
Say  I  will  not  detain  him  more  than  five  minutes." 

He  entered,  and  was  ushered  into  a  small  ante-room 
while  the  maid  went  to  deliver  her  message.  He  caught 
sight  of  his  own  reflection  in  a  round  mirror  over  the  man- 
tel-piece, and  his  face  darkened  as  he  saw  a  dull  red  ridge 
across  his  forehead — the  mark  of  Thelma's  well-directed 
blow, — the  sign-manual  of  her  scorn.  A  few  minutes 
passed,  and  then  there  came  in  to  him  a  large  man  in  an  ex- 
pensive dress-suit, — a  man  with  a  puffy,  red,  Silenus-like 
countenance — no  other  than  Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs,  who 
hailed  him  with  effusive  cordiality. 

"  My  dear,  Sir  Francis !  "  he  said  in  a  rich,  thick,  uncom- 
fortable voice.  "  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure !  Won't 
you  come  upstairs  ?  My  girls  are  having  a  little  informal 
dance — just  among  themselves  and  their  own  young  friends 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  361 

— quite  simple, — in  fact  an  unpretentious  little  affair !  " 
And  he  rubbed  his  fat  hands,  on  which  twinkled  two  or 
three  large  diamond  rings.  "  But  we  shall  be  charmed  if 
you  will  join  us  !  " 

"  Thanks,  not  this  evening,"  returned  Sir  Francis.  "  It's 
rather  too  late.  I  should  not  have  intruded  upon  you  at 
this  hour — but  I  thought  you  might  possibly  like  this  para- 
graph for  the  Snake." 

And  he  held  out  with  a  careless  air  the  paper  on  which 
he  had  scribbled  but  a  few  minutes  previously.  Mr.  Snaw- 
ley-Grubbs  smiled, — and  fixed  a  pair  of  elegant  gold-rimmed 
eye-glasses  on  his  inflamed  crimson  nose. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  though,"  he  observed,  before  reading, 
"  that  it  is  too  late  for  this  week,  at  any  rate.  We've  gone 
to  press  alread}'." 

"  Never  mind ! "  returned  Sir  Francis  indifferently. 
"  Next  week  will  do  as  well." 

And  he  furtively  watched  Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs  while  he 
perused  the  pencilled  scrawl.  That  gentleman,  however,  as 
Editor  and  Proprietor  of  the  Snake — a  new,  but  highly  suc- 
cessful weekly  u  society  "  journal,  was  far  too  dignified  and 
self-important  to  allow  his  countenance  to  betray  his  feel- 
ings. He  merely  remarked,  as  he  folded  up  the  little  slip 
very  carefully. 

"  Very  smart !  very  smart,  indeed !  Authentic,  of 
course  ?  " 

Sir  Francis  drew  himself  up  haughtily.  "  You  doubt  my 
word  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  "  declared  Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs  hastily, 
venturing  to  lay  a  soothing  hand  on  Sir  Francis's  shoulder. 
"  Your  position,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing —  Naturally 
you  must  be  able  to  secure  correct  information.  You  can't 
help  it !  I  assure  you  the  Snake  is  infinitely  obliged  to 
you  for  a  great  many  well-written  and  socially  exciting 
paragraphs.  Only,  you  see,  I  myself  should  never  have 
thought  that  so  extreme  a  follower  of  the  exploded  old 
doctrine  of  noblesse  oblige,  as  Sir  Philip  Bruce-Errington, 
would  have  started  on  such  a  new  line  of  action  at  all.  But, 
of  course,  we  are  all  mortal ! "  And  he  shook  his  round, 
thick  head  with  leering  sagacity.  "  Well !  "  he  continued 
after  a  pause.  "  This  shall  go  in  without  fail  next  week,  I 
promise  you." 

u  You  can  send  me  a  hundred  copies  of  the  issue,"  said 


362  THELMA. 

Sir  Francis,  taking  up  his  hat  to  go.  "  I  suppose  you're 
not  afraid  of  an  action  for  libel  ?  " 

Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs  laughed — nay,  he  roared, — the  idea 
seemed  so  exquisitely  suited  to  his  sense  of  humor. 

"  Afraid  ?  My  dear  fellow,  there's  nothing  I  should  like 
better  1  It  would  establish  the  Snake,  and  make  my  for- 
tune! I  would  even  go  to  prison  with  pleasure.  Prison, 
for  a  first-class  misdemeanant,  as  I  should  most  probably  be 
termed,  is  perfectly  endurable."  He  laughed  again,  and 
escorted  Sir  Francis  to  the  street-door,  where  he  shook 
hands  heartily.  "  You  are  sure  .you  won't  come  upstairs 
and  join  us?  No?  Ah,  I  see  you  have  a  cab  waiting. 
Good-night,  good-night  1  " 

And  the  Snawley-Grubbs  door  being  closed  upon  him, 
Sir  Francis  re-entered  his  cab,  and  was  driven  straight  to 
his  bachelor  lodgings  in  Piccadilly.  He  was  in  a  better 
humor  with  himself  now, — though  he  was  still  angrily  con- 
scious of  a  smart  throbbing  across  the  eyes,  where  Thelma's 
ringed  hand  had  struck  him.  He  found  a  brief  note  from 
Lady  Winsleigh  awaiting  him.  It  ran  as  follows  : — 

"  You're  playing  a  losing  game  this  time, — she  will  be- 
lieve nothing  without  proofs — and  even  then  it  will  be 
difficult.  You  had  better  drop  the  pursuit,  I  fancy.  For 
once  a  woman's  reputation  will  escape  you  !  " 

He  smiled  bitterly  as  he  read  these  last  words. 

"  Not  while  a  society  paper  exists  I  "  he  said  to  himself. 
"As  long  as  there  are  editors  willing  to  accept  the  word  of 
ft  responsible  man  of  position,  for  any  report,  the  chastest 
Diana  that  ever  lived  shall  not  escape  calumny !  She 
wants  proofs,  does  she  ?  She  shall  have  them — by  Jove ! 
she  shall!" 

And  instead  of  going  to  bed,  he  went  off  to  a  bijou  villa 
in  St.  John's  Wood, — an  elegantly  appointed  little  place, 
which  he  rented  and  maintained, — and  where  the  popular 
personage  known  as  Violet  Vere,  basked  in  the  very  lap  of 
luxury. 

Meanwhile,  Thelma  paced  up  and  down  her  own  boudoir, 
into  which  she  had  escaped  through  the  sliding  panel  which 
had  baffled  her  admirer.  Her  whole  frame  trembled  as  she 
thought  of  the  indignity  to  which  she  had  been  subjected 
during  her  brief  unconsciousness, — her  faceburned  with  bitter 
shame, — she  felt  as  if  she  were  somehow  poisonously  infected 
by  those  hateful  kisses  of  Lennox. — all  her  womanly  and 
wifely  instincts  were  outraged.  Her  first  impulse  was  to 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  363 

tell  he  husband  everything  the  instant  he  returned.  It  was 
she  who  had  rung  the  bell  which  had  startled  Sir  Francis, 
and  she  was  surprised  that  her  summons  was  not  answered. 
She  rang  again,  and  Britta  appeared. 

"  I  wanted  Morris,''  said  Thelma  quickly. 

"  He  thought  it  was  the  drawing-room  bell,"  responded 
Britta  meekly,  for  her  "  Frb'ken  "  looked  very  angry.  "  I 
saw  him  in  the  hall  just  now,  letting  out  Sir  Francis 
Lennox." 

"  Has  he  gone  ?  "  demanded  Thelma  eagerly. 

Britta's  wonder  increased.     "  Yes,  Frb'ken  !" 

Thelma  caught  her  arm.  "  Tell  Morris  never,  never  to 
let  him  inside  the  house  again — never  !  "  and  her  blue  eyes 
flashed  wrathfully.  "  He  is  a  wicked  man,  Britta  1  You 
do  not  know  how  wicked  he  is  ! " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do !  "  and  Britta  regarded  her  mistress  very 
steadfastly.  "  I  know  quite  well!  But,  then,  I  must  not 
speak  !  If  I  dared,  I  could  tell  you  some  strange  things, 
dear  Frb'ken — but  you  will  not  hear  me.  You  know  you 
do  not  wish  me  to  talk  about  your  grand  new  friends, 
Frb'ken,  but "  she  paused  timidly. 

"  Oh,  Britta,  dear !  "  said  Thelma  affectionately  taking 
her  hand.  "  You  know  they  are  not  so  much  my  friends  as 
the  friends  of  Sir  Philip, — and  for  this  reason  I  must  never 
listen  to  anything  against  them.  Do  you  not  see  ?  Of 
course  their  ways  seem  strange  to  us — but,  then,  life  in 
London  is  so  different  to  life  in  Norway, — and  we  cannot  all 

at  once  understand "  she  broke  cff,  sighing  a  little. 

Then  she  resumed — "  Now  37ou  will  give  Morris  my 
message,  Britta — and  then  come  to  me  in  my  bedroom — I 
am  tired,  and  Philip  said  I  was  not  to  wait  up  for  him." 

Britta  departed,  and  Thelma  went  rather  slowly  up-stairs. 
It  was  now  nearly  midnight,  and  she  felt  languid  and 
weary.  Her  reflections  began  to  take  a  new  turn.  Suppose 
she  told  her  husband  all  that  had  occurred,  he  would  most 
certainly  go  to  Sir  Francis  and  punish  him  in  some  way — 
there  might  then  be  a  quarrel  in  which  Philip  might  suffer 
— and  all  sorts  of  evil  consequences  would  perhaps  result 
from  her  want  of  reticence.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  she  said 
nothing,  and  simply  refused  to  receive  Lennox,  would  not 
her  husband  think  such  conduct  on  her  part  strange  ?  She 
puzzled  over  these  questions  till  her  head  ached — and  finally 
resolved  to  keep  her  own  counsel  for  the  present, — after 
what  had  happened,  Sir  Francis  would  most  probably  not  in- 


364  THELMA. 

trude  himself  again  into  her  presence.  "  I  will  ask  Mrs. 
Lorimer  what  is  best  to  do,"  she  thought.  "  She  is  old  and 
wise,  and  she  will  know." 

That  night,  as  she  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  and  Britta 
threw  the  warm  eidredon  over  her,  she  shivered  a  little  and 
asked — 

"  Is  it  not  very  cold,  Britta  ?  " 

"  Very !  "  responded  her  little  maid.  "  And  it  is  begin- 
ning to  snow." 

Thelma  looked  wistful.  "  It  is  all  snow  and  darkness 
now  at  the  Altenfjord,"  she  said. 

Britta  smiled.  "  Yes,  indeed,  Frb'ken  1  We  are  better 
off  here  than  there." 

"  Perhaps  !  "  replied  Thelma  a  little  musingly,  and  then 
she  settled  herself  as  though  to  sleep. 

Britta  kissed  her  hand,  and  retired  noiselessly.  When 
she  had  gone,  Thelma  opened  her  eyes  and  lay  broad  awake 
looking  at  the  flicker  of  rosy  light  flung  on  the  ceiling  from 
the  little  suspended  lamp  in  her  oratory.  All  snow  and 
darkness  at  the  Altenfjord!  How  strange  the  picture 
seemed!  She  thought  of  her  mother's  sepulchre, — how 
cold  and  dreary  it  must  be, — she  could  see  in  fancy  the 
long  pendent  icicles  fringing  the  entrance  to  the  sea-king's 
tomb, — the  spot  where  she  and  Philip  had  first  met, — she 
could  almost  hear  the  slow,  sullen  plash  of  the  black  Fjord 
against  the  shore.  Her  maiden  life  in  Norway — her  school- 
days at  Aries, — these  were  now  like  dreams, — dreams  that 
had  passed  away  "long,  long  ago.  The  whole  tenor  of  her 
existence  had  changed, — she  was  a  wife, — she  was  soon  to 
be  a  mother, — and  with  this  near  future  of  new  and  sacred 
joy  before  her,  why  did  she  to-night  so  persistently  look 
backward  to  the  past  ? 

As  she  lay  quiet,  watching  the  glimmering  light  upon  the 
wall,  it  seemed  as  though  her  room  were  suddenly  filled  with 
shadowy  forms, — she  saw  her  mother's  sweet,  sad,  suffering 
face, — then  her  father's  sturdy  figure  and  fine,  frank  feat- 
ures,— then  came  the  flitting  shape  of  the  hapless  Sigurd, 
whose  plaintive  voice  she  almost  imagined  she  could  hear, 
— and  feeling  that  she  was  growing  foolishly  nervous,  she 
closed  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  sleep.  In  vain, — her  mind  be- 
gan to  work  on  a  far  more  unpleasing  train  of  thought. 
Why  did  not  Philip  return?  Where  was  he?  As  though 
some  mocking  devil  had  answered  her,  the  words,  "  In  the 
arms  of  Violet  Vere  !  "  as  uttered  by  Sir  Francis  Lennox, 


THE  LAND  Of  MOCKERY.  365 

recurred  to  her.  Overcome  by  her  restlessness,  she  started 
up, — she  determined  to  get  out  of  bed,  and  put  on  her 
dressing-gown  and  read, — when  her  quick  ears  caught  the 
sound  of  steps  coming  up  the  stair-case.  She  recognized 
her  husband's  firm  tread,  and  understood  that  he  was  fol- 
lowed by  Neville,  whose  sleeping-apartment  was  on  the 
floor  above.  She  listened  attentively — they  were  talking  to- 
gether in  low  tones  on  the  landing  outside  her  door. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  much  better  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it,"  said  Sir  Philip.  "  She  will  have  to  know  some 
day." 

"  Your  wife  ?  For  God's  sake,  don't  tell  her  1  "  Neville's 

voice  replied.  "  Such  a  disgraceful "  Here  his  words 

sank  to  a  whisper,  and  Thelma  could  not  distinguish  them. 
Another  minute,  and  her  husband  entered  with  soft  precau- 
tion, fearing  to  awake  her — she  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
welcome  him,  and  he  hastened  to  her  with  an  exclamation 
of  tenderness  and  pleasure. 

"  My  darling !     Not  asleep  yet  ?  " 

She  smiled, — but  there  was  something  very  piteous  in  her 
smile,  had  the  dim  light  enabled  him  to  perceive  it. 

"  No,  not  yet,  Philip !  And  yet  I  think  I  have  been 
dreaming  of — the  Altenfjord." 

"  Ah !  it  must  be  cold  there  now,"  he  answered  lightly. 
"  It's  cold  enough  here,  in  all  conscience.  To-night  there  is 
a  bitter  east  wind,  and  snow  is  falling." 

She  heard  this  account  of  the  weather  with  almost  mor- 
bid interest.  Her  thoughts  instantly  betook  themselves 
again  to  Norway,  and  dwelt  there.  To  the  last, — before  her 
aching  eyes  closed  in  the  slumber  she  so  sorely  needed, — 
she  seemed  to  be  carried  away  in  fancy  to  a  weird  stretch 
of  gloom-enveloped  landscape  where  she  stood  entirely 
alone,  vaguely  wondering  at  the  dreary  scene.  "  How 
strange  it  seems !  "  she  murmured  almost  aloud.  "  All 
SDOW  and  darkness  at  the  Altenfjord  1  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  Le  temps  ou  nous  nous  sommes  aimes  n'a  gudrc  dur6,  jeune 
fille  ;  il  a  pass6  comme  un  coup  de  vent !  " 

Old  Breton  Ballad. 

THE  next  morning  dawned,  cold  and  dismal.     A  dense 
yellow  fog  hung  over  the  metropolis  like  a  pall — the  street- 


366  THELMA. 

lamps  were  lighted,  but  their  flare  scarcely  illumined  the 
thoroughfares,  and  the  chill  of  the  snow-burdened  air  pene- 
trated into  the  warmest  rooms,  and  made  itself  felt  even  by 
the  side  of  the  brightest  fires.  Sir  Philip  woke  with  an 
uncomfortable  sense  of  headache  and  depression,  and  grum- 
bled,— as  surely  every  Englishman  has  a  right  to  grumble, 
at  the  uncompromising  wretchedness  of  his  country's  winter 
climate.  His  humor  was  not  improved  when  a  telegram 
arrived  before  breakfast,  summoning  him  in  haste  to  a  dull 
town  in  one  of  the  Midland  counties,  on  pressing  business 
connected  with  his  candidature  for  Parliament. 

"  What  a  bore !  "  he  exclaimed,  showing  the  missive  to 
his  wife.  "  I  must  go, — and  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  back  to- 
night. You'll  be  all  alone,  Thelma.  I  wish  you'd  go  to  the 
Winsleighs !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Thelma  quietly.  "  I  shall  much  prefer  to 
be  here.  I  do  not  mind,  Philip.  I  am  accustomed  to  be 
alone." 

Something  in  her  tone  struck  him  as  particularly  sad, 
and  he  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  Now,  my  darling,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  if  this  Parlia- 
mentary bother  is  making  you  feel  worried  or  vexed  in  any 
way,  I'll  throw  it  all  up — by  Jove,  I  will  I  "  And  he  drew 
her  into  his  warm  embrace.  "  After  all,"  he  added,  with  a 
laugh,  "  what  does  it  matter  1  The  country  can  get  on  with- 
out me !  " 

Thelma  smiled  a  little. 

<k  You  must  not  talk  so  foolishly,  Philip,"  she  said  ten- 
derly. "  It  is  wrong  to  begin  a  thing  of  importance,  and 
not  go  through  with  it.  And  I  am  not  worried  or  vexed  at 
all.  What  would  people  say  of  me  if  I,  your  wife,  were,  for 
my  own  selfish  comfort  and  pleasure  of  having  you  always 
with  me,  to  prevent  you  from  taking  a  good  place  among 
the  men  of  your  nation  ?  Indeed,  I  should  deserve  much 
blame !  And  so,  though  it  is  a  gloomy  day  for  you,  poor 
boy, — you  must  go  to  this  place  where  you  are  wanted,  and 
I  shall  think  of  you  all  the  time  you  are  gone,  and  shall  be 
so  happy  to  welcome  you  home  to-morrow  !  " 

And  she  kissed  and  clung  to  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
All  that  day  Philip  was  haunted  l>y  the  remembrance  of 
the  lingering  tenderness  of  her  farewell  embrace.  By  ten 
o'clock  he  was  gone,  taking  Neville  with  him  ;  and  after  her 
household  duties  were  over,  Thelma  prepared  herself  to  go 
and  lunch  with  old  Mrs.  Lorimer,  and  see  what  she  would 


THE  LAND  Of  MOCKERY.  367 

advise  concerning  the  affair  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox.  But, 
at  the  same  time,  she  resolved  that  nothing  should  make 
her  speak  of  the  reports  that  were  afloat  about  her  husband 
and  Violet  Yere. 

"  I  know  it  is  all  false,"  she  said  to  herself  over  and  over 
again.  "  And  the  people  here  are  as  silly  as  the  peasants 
in  Bosekop,  ready  to  believe  any  untruth  so  long  as  it  gives 
them  something  to  talk  about.  But  they  may  chatter  as 
they  please — I  shall  not  say  one  word,  not  even  to  Philip — 
for  it  would  seem  as  if  I  mistrusted  him." 

Thus  she  put  away  all  the  morbid  fancies  that  threatened 
to  oppress  her,  and  became  almost  cheerful. 

And  while  she  made  her  simple  plans  for  pleasantly  pass- 
ing the  long,  dull  day  of  her  husband's  enforced  absence, 
her  friend,  Lady  Winsleigh,  was  making  arrangements  of  a 
very  different  nature.  Her  ladyship  had  received  a  tele- 
gram from  Sir  Francis  Lennox  that  morning.  The  pink 
missive  had  apparently  put  her  in  an  excellent  humor, 
though,  after  reading  it,  she  crumpled  it  up  and  threw  it  in 
the  waste-paper  basket,  from  which  receptacle,  Louise 
Renaud,  her  astute  attendant,  half  an  hour  later  extracted 
it,  secreting  it  in  her  own  pocket  for  private  perusal  at 
leisure.  She  ordered  her  brougham,  saying  she  was  going 
out  on  business, — and  before  departing,  she  took  from  her 
dressing-case  certain  bank-notes  and  crammed  them  hastily 
into  her  purse — a  purse  which,  in  all  good  faith,  she  handed 
to  her  maid  to  put  in  her  sealskin  muff-bag.  Of  course, 
Louise  managed  to  make  herself  aware  of  its  contents, — 
but  when  her  ladyship  at  last  entered  her  carriage  her  un- 
expected order,  "  To  the  Brilliant  Theatre,  Strand,"  was 
sufficient  to  startle  Briggs,  and  cause  him  to  exchange  sur- 
prise signals  with  "  Mamzelle,"  who  merely  smiled  a  prim, 
incomprehensible  smile. 

"  Where  did  your  la'ship  say  ?  "  asked  Briggs  dubiously. 

"  Are  you  getting  deaf,  Briggs  ?  "  responded  his  mis- 
tress pleasantly.  "  To  the  Brilliant  Theatre ! "  She 
raised  her  voice,  and  spoke  with  distinct  emphasis.  There 
was  no  mistaking  her.  Briggs  touched  his  hat, — in  the 
same  instant  he  winked  at  Lousie,  and  then  the  carriage 
rolled  away. 

At  night,  the  Brilliant  Theatre  is  a  pretty  little  place, — 
comfortable,  cosy,  bright,  and  deserving  of  its  name ; — in 
broad  day,  it  is  none  of  these  things.  A  squalid  dreari- 
ness seems  to  have  settled  upon '  it — it  has  a  peculiar  at- 


368  THELMA. 

mosphere  of  its  own — an  atmosphere  dark,  heavy,  and 
strangely  flavored  with  odors  of  escaping  gas  and  crushed 
orange-peel.  Behind  the  scenes,  these  odors  mingle  with  a 
chronic,  all-pervading  smell  of  beer — beer,  which  the 
stranger's  sensitive  nose  detects  directly,  in  spite  of  the 
choking  clouds  of  dust  which  arise  from  the  boards  at  the 
smallest  movement  of  any  part  of  the  painted  scenery. 
The  Brilliant  had  gone  through  much  ill-fortune — its  pro- 
prietors never  realized  any  financial  profit  till  they  secured 
Yiolet  Vere.  With  her  came  prosperity.  Her  utter  ab- 
sence of  all  reserve— the  frankness  with  which  she  threw 
modesty  to  the  winds, — the  vigor  with  which  she  danced  a 
regular  "  break-down," — roaring  a  comic  song  of  the  lowest 
type,  by  way  of  accompaniment, — the  energetic  manner  in 
which,  metaphorically  speaking,  she  kicked  at  the  public 
with  her  shapely  legs, — all  this  overflow  of  genius  on  her 
part  drew  crowds  to  the  Brilliant  nightly,  and  the  grateful 
and  happy  managers  paid  her  a  handsome  salary,  humored 
all  her  caprices,  and  stinted  and  snubbed  for  her  sake,  all 
the  rest  of  the  company.  She  was  immensely  popular — 
the  "  golden  youth  "  of  London  raved  about  her  dyed  hair, 
painted  eyes,  and  carmined  lips — even  her  voice,  as  coarse 
as  that  of  a  dustman,  was  applauded  to  the  echo,  and  her 
dancing  excited  the  wildest  enthusism.  Dukes  sent  her 
presents  of  diamond  ornaments — gifts  of  value  which  they 
would  have  possibly  refused  to  their  own  wives  and  daugh- 
ters,— Royal  Highnesses  thought  it  no  shame  to  be  seen 
lounging  near  her  stage  dressing-room  door, — in  short,  she 
was  in  the  zenith  of  her  career,  arid,  being  thoroughly  un- 
principled, audaciously  insolent,  and  wholly  without  a  con- 
science,— she  enjoyed  herself  immensely. 

At  the  very  time  when  Lady  Winsleigh's  carriage  was 
nearing  the  Strand,  the  grand  morning  rehearsal  of  a,  new 
burlesque  was  a  on  "  at  the  Brilliant — and  Violet's  harsh 
tones,  raised  to  a  sort  of  rough  masculine  roar,  were  heard 
all  over  the  theatre,  as  she  issued  commands  or  made  com- 
plaints according  to  her  changeful  humors.  She  sat  in  an 
elevated  position  above  the  stage  on  a  jutting  beam  of  wood 
painted  to  resemble  the  gnarled  branch  of  a  tree, — swing- 
ing her  legs  to  and  fro  and  clinking  the  heels  of  her  shoes 
together  in  time  to  the  mild  scraping  of  a  violin,  the 
player  whereof  was  "  trying  over  "  the  first  few  bars  of  the 
new  ''jig  "  in  which  she  was  ere  long  to  distinguish  herself. 
She  was  a  handsome  woman,  with  a  fine,  lair  skin,  and 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  369 

large,  full,  dark  eyes — she  had  a  wide  mouth,  which,  nearly 
always  on  the  grin,  displayed  to  the  full  her  strong  white 
teeth, — her  figure  was  inclined  to  excessive  embonpoint,  but 
this  rather  endeared  her  to  her  admirers  than  otherwise, — 
many  of  these  gentlemen  being  prone  to  describe  her  fleshly 
charms  by  the  epithet  "  Prime ! "  as  though  she  were  a 
fatting  pig  or  other  animal  getting  ready  for  killing. 

"  Tommy  !  Tommy  !  "  she  screeched  presently.  "  Are 
you  going  to  sleep  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to  dance  to  a  dirge, 
you  lazy  devil  1 " 

Tommy,  the  player  of  the  violin,  paused  in  his  efforts, 
and  looked  up  drearily.  He  was  an  old  man,  with  a  lean, 
long  body  and  pinched  features — his  lips  had  a  curious  way, 
too,  of  trembling  when  he  spoke,  as  if  he  were  ready  to 
cry. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  don't  know  it  yet. 
I  must  practice  it  a  bit  at  home.  My  sight's  not  so  good 
as  it  used  to  be " 

"  Such  a  pair  of  optics,  love,  you've  never,  never  seen — 
One  my  mother  blacked  last  night,  the  tother  it  is  green  ! " 

sang  Violet,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  all  the  unwashed- 
looking  supernumeraries  and  ballet-girls,  who  were  scattered 
about  the  stage,  talking  and  laughing. 

"  Shut  up,  Tommy  !  "  she  continued.  "  You're  always 
talking  about  your  eyesight.  I  warn  you,  if  you  say  too 
much  about  it  you'll  lose  your  place.  We  don't  want  blind 
fiddlers  in  the  Brilliant.  Put  down  you  catgut  screamer, 
and  fetch  me  a  pint.  Ask  for  the  Vere's  own  tipple — 
they'll  twig ! " 

Tommy  obeyed,  and  shuffled  off  on  his  errand.  As  he 
departed, — a  little  man  with  a  very  red  face,  wearing  a 
stove-pipe  hat  very  much  on  one  sid,  bounced  on  the  stage 
as  if  some  one  had  thrown  him  there  like  a  ball. 

"  Now,  ladies,  ladies  !  "  he  shouted  warningly.  "At- 
tention !  Once  again,  please!  The  last  figure  once 
again ! '  The  straggling  groups  scrambled  hastily  into 
something  like  order,  and  the  little  man  continued — "  One, 
two,  three !  Advance — retreat — left,  right  1  Very  well, 
indeed !  Arms  up  a  little  more,  Miss  Jenkins — so !  toes 
well  pointed — curtsy — retire !  One,  two,  three !  swift  slide 
to  the  left  wing — forward  1  Round — take  hands — all  smile, 
please !  "  This  general  smile  was  apparently  not  quite  sat- 
isfactory, for  he  repeated  persuasively — "  All  smile,  please  1 


370  TBELMA. 

So  I  Round  again — more  quickly — now  break  the  circle  in 

centre — enter  Miss  Yere '  he  paused,  growing  still 

redder  in  the  face,  and  demanded,  "  Where  is  Miss  Yere  ?  " 

He  was  standing  just  beneath  the  painted  bough  of  the 
sham  tree,  and  in  one  second  his  hat  was  dexterously 
kicked  off,  and  two  heels  met  with  a  click  round  his  neck. 

"  Here  I  am,  pickaninny  !  "  retorted  Miss  Yere  holding 
him  fast  in  this  novel  embrace,  amid  the  laughter  of  the 
supers.  "  You're  getting  as  blind  as  Tommy  !  Steady, 
steady  now,  donkey  ! — steady — woa !  "  And  in  a  thrice  she 
stood  upright,  one  foot  planted  firmly  on  each  of  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"  No  weight,  am  I,  darling  ?  "  she  went  on  jeeringly,  and 
with  an  inimitably  derisive  air  she  put  up  an  eye-glass  and 
surveyed  the  top  of  his  head.  "  You  want  a  wig,  my  dear 
— you  do,  indeed!  Come  with  me  to-morrow,  and  I'll  buy 
you  one  to  suit  your  complexion.  Your  wife  won't  know 
you ! " 

And  with  a  vigorous  jump  she  sprang  down  from  her  po- 
sition, managing  to  give  him  a  smart  hit  on  the  nose  as  she 
did  so — and  leaping  to  the  centre  of  the  stage,  she  posed 
herself  to  commence  her  dance — when  Tommy  came  creep- 
ing back  in  his  slow  and  dismal  fashion,  bearing  something 
in  a  pewter  pot. 

"  That's  the  ticket  !  "  she  cried  as  she  perceived  him. 
"  I'm  as  dry  as  a  whole  desert !  Give  it  here  1 "  And  she 
snatched  the  mug  from  the  feeble  hand  of  her  messenger  and 
began  drinking  eagerly. 

The  little  red-faced  man  interposed.  "  Now,  Miss  Yi," 
he  said,  u  is  that  brandy  ?  " 

"  Rather  so  1 "  returned  the  Yere,  with  a  knowing  wink, 
"  and  a  good  many  things  besides.  It's  a  mixture.^  The 
'  Yere's  Own ! '  Ha,  ha  !  Might  be  the  name  of  a  regi- 
ment !  " 

And  she  buried  her  mouth  and  nose  again  in  the  tankard. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  little  man  again.  "  Why  not  wait 
till  after  the  dance?  It's  bad  for  you  before." 

"  Oh,  is  it,  indeed  !  "  screamed  Yiolet,  raising  her  face, 
which  became  suddenly  and  violently  flushed.  "  O  good 
Lord !  Are  you  a  temperance  preacher  ?  Teach  your 
granny!  Bad  for  me?  Say  another  word,  and  I'll  box 
your  ears  for  you  !  You  braying  jackass ! — you  snivelling 
idiot !  Who  makes  the  Brilliant  draw?  You  or  I  ?  Tell 
me  that,  you  staring  old " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  371 

Here  Tommy,  who  had  for  some  minutes  been  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  attract  her  attention,  raised  his  weak  voice  to 
a  feeble  shout. 

"  I  say,  Miss  Vere !  I've  been  trying  to  tell  you,  but 
you  won't  listen  !  There's  a  lady  waiting  to  see  you  1 " 

ft  A  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  lady  !  "  continued  Tommy,  in  loud  tones.  "  A  lady 
of  title  !  Wants  to  see  you  in  private  1  Won't  detain  you 
long ! " 

Violet  Yere  raised  her  pewter  mug  once  more,  and 
drained  off  its  contents. 

"  Lord,  ain't  I  honored !  "  she  said,  smacking  her  lips  with 
a  grin.  •'  A  lady  of  title  to  see  me !  Let  her  wait !  Now 
then  !  "  and  snapping  her  fingers,  she  began  her  dance,  and 
went  through  it  to  the  end,  with  her  usual  vigor  and  frank- 
ness. When  she  had  finished,  she  turned  to  the  red-faced 
man  who  had  watched  her  evolutions  with  much  delight  in 
spite  of  the  abuse  she  had  heaped  upon  him,  and  said  with 
an  affected,  smirking  drawl — 

"  Show  the  lady  of  title  into  my  dressing-room !  I  shall 
be  ready  for  her  in  ten  minutes.  Be  sure  to  mention  that  I 
am  very  shy, — and  unaccustomed  to  company  1  " 

And,  giggling  gently  like  an  awkward  school-girl,  she 
held  down  her  head  with  feigned  bashfulness,  and  stepped 
mincingly  across  the  stage  with  such  a  ludicrous  air  of 
prim  propriet3r,  that  all  her  associates  burst  out  laughing, 
and  applauded  her  vociferously.  She  turned  and  curtsied 
to  them  demurely — then  suddenly  raising  one  leg  in  a  hor- 
izontal position,  she  twirled  it  rapidly  in  their  faces, — then 
she  gave  a  little  shocked  cough  behind  her  hand,  grinned, 
and  vanished. 

When,  in  the  stipulated  ten  minutes,  she  was  ready  to 
receive  her  unknown  visitor,  she  was  quite  transformed. 
She  had  arrayed  herself  in  a  trailing  gown  of  rich  black 
velvet,  fastened  at  the  side  with  jet  clasps — a  cluster  of  nat- 
ural,  innocent,  white  violets  nestled  in  the  fall  of  Spanish 
lace  at  her  throat — her  face  was  pale  with  pearl-powder, — 
and  she  had  eaten  a  couple  of  scented  bon-bons  to  drown 
the  smell  of  her  recent  brandy-tipple.  She  reclined  grace- 
fully in  an  easy  chair,  pretending  to  read,  and  she  rose  with 
an  admirably  acted  air  of  startled  surprise,  as  one  of  the 
errand  boys  belonging  to  the  Brilliant  tapped  at  her  door, 
and  in  answer  to  her  ''  Come  in !  "  announced, "  Lady  Wins- 


372  THELMA. 

A  faint,  sweet,  questioning  smile  played  on  the  Vere's 
wide  mouth. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  the  honor  of "  she  be- 
gan, modulating  her  voice  to  the  requirements  of  fashion- 
able society,  and  wondering  within  herself  "  what  the 

d 1"  this  woman  in  the  silk  and  sable-fur  costume 

wanted." 

Lady  Winsleigh  in  the  meantime  stared  at  her  with  cold, 
critical  eyes. 

"  She  is  positively  rather  handsome,"  she  thought.  "  I 
can  quite  imagine  a  certain  class  of  men  losing  their  heads 
about  her."  Aloud  she  said — 

"  I  must  apologize  for  this  intrusion,  Miss  Vere !  I  dare 
say  you  have  never  heard  my  name — I  am  not  fortunate 
enough  to  be  famous, — as  you  are."  This  with  a  killing 
satire  in  her  smile.  "  May  I  sit  down  ?  Thanks  1  I  have 
called  upon  you  in  the  hope  that  you  may  perhaps  be  able 
to  give  me  a  little  information  in  a  private  matter — a  mat- 
ter concerning  the  happiness  of  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine." 
She  paused — Violet  Vere  sat  silent.  After  a  minute  or 
two,  her  ladyship  continued  in  a  somewhat  embarrassed 
manner — 

"  I  believe  you  know  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  am  also 
acquainted — Sir  Philip  Bruce-Errington." 

Miss  Vere  raised  her  eyes  with  charming  languor  and  a 
slow  smile. 

"  Oh  yes !  " 

"  He  visits  you,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Frequently ! " 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  think  me  rude  and  inquisitive,"  con- 
tinued Lady  Winsleigh,  with  a  coaxing  air,  "  but — but  may 
I  ask "" 

"  Anything  in  the  world,"  interrupted  Violet  coolly. 
w  Ask  away  !  But  I'm  not  bound  to  answer." 

Lady  Winsleigh  reddened  with  indignation.  "  What  an 
insulting  creature !  "  she  thought.  But,  after  all,  she  had 
put  herself  in  her  present  position,  and  she  could  not  very 
well  complain  if  she  met  with  a  rebuff.  She  made  another 
effort. 

"  Sir  Francis  Lennox  told  me "  she  began. 

The  Vere  interrupted  her  with  a  cheerful  laugh. 

u  Oh,  you  come  from  him,  do  you  ?  Now,  why  didn't  you 
tell  me  that  at  first  ?  It's  all  right !  You're  a  great  friend 
of  Lennie's,  aren't  you  ?  " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  373 

Lady  Winsleigh  sat  erect  and  haughty,  a  deadly  chill  of 
disgust  and  fear  at  her  heart.  This  creature  called  her 
quondam  lover,  "  Lennie  " — even  as  she  herself  had  done, — 
and  she,  the  proud,  vain  woman  of  society  and  fashion 
shuddered  at  the  idea  that  there  should  be  even  this  simi- 
larity between  herself  and  the  "  thing  "  called  Violet  Vere. 
She  replied  stiffly — 

"  I  have  known  him  a  long  time." 

"  He's  a  nice  fellow,"  went  on  Miss  Vere  easily — "  a  leetle 
stingy  sometimes,  but  never  mind  that !  You  want  to 
know  about  Sir  Philip  Errington,  and  I'll  tell  you.  He's 
chosen  to  mix  himself  up  with  some  affairs  of  mine 

"  What  affairs  ?  "  asked  Lady  Winsleigh  rather  eagerly. 

"  They  don't  concern  3Tou,"  returned  Miss  Vere  calmly, 
"  and  we  needn't  talk  about  them !  But  they  concern  Sir 
Philip, — or  he  thinks  they  do,  and  insists  on  seeing  me 
about  them,  and  holding  long  conversations,  which  bore  me 
excessively ! " 

She  yawned  slightly,  smothering  her  yawn  in  a  dainty 
lace  handkerchief,  and  then  went  on — 

"  He's  a  moral  young  man,  don't  you  know — and  I  never 
could  endure  moral  men !  I  can't  get  on  with  them  at 
all ! " 

"  Then  you  don't  like  him  ?  "  questioned  Lady  Winsleigh 
in  rather  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  No,  I  don't !  "  said  the  Vere  candidly.  "  He's  not  my 
sort.  But,  Lord  bless  you !  I  know  how  he's  getting 
talked  about  because  he  comes  here — and  serve  him  right 
too !  He  shouldn't  meddle  with  my  business."  She  paused 
suddenly  and  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket, — laughed  and 
tossed  it  across  the  table. 

"  You  can  read  that,  if  }Tou  like,"  she  said  indifferently. 
"  He  wrote  it,  and  sent  it  round  to  me  last  night." 

Lady  Winsleigh's  eyes  glistened  eagerly, — she  recognized 
Errington's  bold,  clear  hand  at  once, — and  as  she  read,  an 
expression  of  triumph  played  on  her  features.  She  looked 
up  presently  and  said — 

"  Have  you  any  further  use  for  this  letter,  Miss  Vere  ? 
Or — will  you  allow  me  to  keep  it  ?  " 

The  Vere  seemed  slightly  suspicious  of  this  proposal,  but 
looked  amused  too. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  want  it  for  ?  "  she  inquired  bluntly. 
"  To  tease  him  about  me  ?  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  forced  a  smile,     "  Well — perhaps  i  "  she 


374  THELMA. 

admitted ,  then  with  an  air  of  gentleness  and  simplicity  she 
continued,  "  I  think,  Miss  Vere,  with  you,  that  it  is  very 
wrong  of  Sir  Philip, — very  absurd  of  him,  in  fact — to  in- 
terfere with  your  affairs,  whatever  they  may  be, — and  as  it 
is  very  likely  annoying  to  you — 

"  It  is,"  interrupted  Violet  decidedly. 

"  Then,  with  the  help  of  this  letter — which,  really — 
veally — excuse  me  for  saying  it ! — quite  compromises  him," 
and  her  ladyship  looked  amiably  concerned  about  it,  "  I 
might  perhaps  persuade  him  not  to — to — intrude  upon  you 
— you  understand?  But  if  you  object  to  part  with  the  let- 
ter, never  mind!  If  I  did  not  fear  to  offend  you,  I  should 
ask  you  to  exchange  it  for — for  something  more — well !  let 
us  say,  something  more  substantial 

"  Don't  beat  about  the  bush !  "  said  Violet,  with  a  sudden 
oblivion  of  her  company  manners.  "  You  mean  money  ?  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  smiled.  "  As  you  put  it  so  frankly,  Miss 
Vere "  she  began. 

"  Of  course !  I'm  always  frank,"  returned  the  Vere, 
with  a  loud  laugh.  "  Besides,  what's  the  good  of  pretend- 
ing ?  Money's  the  only  thing  worth  having — it  pays  your 
butcher,  baker,  and  dressmaker — and  how  are  you  to  get 
along  if  you  can't  pay  them,  I'd  like  to  know  1  Lord  1  if 
all  the  letters  I've  got  from  fools  were  paying  stock  instead 
of  waste-paper,  I'd  shut  up  shop,  and  leave  the  Brilliant  to 
look  out  for  itself!  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  felt  she  had  gained  her  object,  and  she 
could  now  afford  to  be  gracious. 

"  That  would  be  a  great  loss  to  the  world,"  she  remarked 
sweetly.  "  An  immense  loss  !  London  could  scarcely  get 
on  without  Violet  Vere  !  "  Here  she  opened  her  purse  and 
took  out  some  bank-notes,  which  she  folded  and  slipped  in- 
side an  envelope.  "  Then  I  may  have  the  letter  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued. 

"  You  may  and  welcome !  "  returned  Violet. 

Lady  Winsleigh  instantly  held  out  the  envelope,  which  she 
as  instantly  clutched.  "  Especially  if  you'll  tell  Sir  Philip 
Errington  to  mind  his  own  business  !  "  She  paused,  and  a 
dark  flush  mounted  to  her  brow — one  of  those  sudden 
flushes  that  purpled  rather  than  crimsoned  her  face.  "  Yes," 
she  repeated,  "  as  he's  a  friend  of  yours,  just  tell  him  I  said 
he  was  to  mind  his  own  business !  Lord  !  what  does  he 
want  to  come  here  and  preach  at  me  for  !  I  don't  want  his 
sermons  !  Moral !  "  here  she  laughed  rather  hoarsely, "  I'm 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  375 

as  moral  as  any  one  on  the  stage !  Who  says  I'm  not ! 
Take  'em  all  round — there's  not  a  soul  behind  the  footlights 
more  open  and  above-board  than  I  am  !  " 

And  her  eyes  flashed  defiantly. 

"  She's  been  drinking  ?  "  thought  Lady  Winsleigh  dis- 
gustedly. In  fact,  the  "  Yere's  Own  "  tipple  had  begun  to 
take  its  usual  effect,  which  was  to  make  the  Yere  herself 
both  blatant  and  boisterous. 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  her  ladyship  with  frigid  politeness, 
"  that  you  are  everything  that  is  quite  charming,  Miss 
Yere  !  I  have  a  great  respect  for  the — the  oraments  of  the 
English  stage.  Society  has  quite  thrown  down  its  former 
barriers,  you  know ! — the  members  of  your  profession  are 
received  in  the  very  best  circles " 

"  I  ain't !  "  said  Yiolet,  with  ungrammatical  candor. 
"  Your  Irvings  and  your  Terrys,  your  Mary  Andersons  and 
your  Langtrys, — they're  good  enough  for  your  fine  draw- 
ing-rooms, and  get  more  invitations  out  than  they  can  ac- 
cept. And  none  of  them  have  got  half  my  talent,  I  tell 
you !  Lord  bless  my  soul !  if  they're  respectable  enough 
for  you, — so  am  I !  " 

And  she  struck  her  hand  emphatically  on  the  table. 
Lady  Winsleigh  looked  at  her  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  I  must  really  say  good-bye  1  "  she  said,  rising  and 
gathering  her  furs  about  her.  "  I  could  talk  with  you  all 
the  morning.  Miss  Vere,  but  I  have  so  many  engagements  I 
Besides  I  mustn't  detain  you  !  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you 
for  your  kind  reception  of  me  !  " 

"  Don't  mention  it !  "  and  Yiolet  glanced  her  over  with  a 
kind  of  sullen  sarcasm.  "  I'm  bound  to  please  Lennie 
when  I  can,  you  know  !  " 

Again  Lady  Winsleigh  shivered  a  little,  but  forced  her- 
self to  shake  hands  with  the  notorious  stage-Jezebel. 

"  I  shall  come  and  see  you  in  the  new  piece,"  she  said 
graciously.  "  I  always  take  a  box  on  first  nights  ?  And 
your  dancing  is  so  exquisite  !  The  very  poetry  of  motion ! 
So  pleased  to  have  met  you  !  Good-bye  !  " 

And  with  a  few  more  vague  compliments  and  remarks 
about  the  weather,  Lady  Winsleigh  took  her  departure. 
Left  alone,  the  actress  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair  and 
laughed. 

"  That  woman's  up  to  some  mischief,"  she  exclaimed  sotto 
voce,  "  and  so  is  Lennie !  I  wonder  what's  their  little 
game  ?  /  don't  care,  as  long  as  they'll  keep  the  high-and- 


376  THELMA. 

mighty  Errington  in  his  place.  I'm  tired  of  him  !  Why 
does  he  meddle  with  my  affairs  ?  "  Her  brows  knitted  into 
a  frown.  "  As  if  he  or  anybody  else  could  persuade  me  to 

go  back  to ,"  she  paused,  and  bit  her  lips  angrily. 

Then  she  opened  the  envelope  Lady  Winsleigh  had  left  with 
her,  and  pulled  out  the  bank-notes  inside.  "  Let  me  see — 
five,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  !  Not  bad  pay,  on  the  whole !  It'll 
just  cover  the  bill  for  my  plush  mantle.  Hullo !  Who's 
there  ?  " 

Some  one  knocked  at  her  door. 

"  Come  in !  "  she  cried. 

The  feeble  Toning  presented  himself.  His  weak  mouth 
trembled  more  than  ever,  and  he  was  apparently  conscious 
of  this,  for  he  passed  his  hand  nervously  across  it  two  or 
three  times. 

"  Well,  what's  up  ?  "  inquired  the  "  star  "  of  the  Brilliant, 
fingering  her  bank-notes  as  she  spoke. 

"  Miss  Yere,"  stammered  Tommy,  "  I  venture  to  ask  you 
a  favor, — could  you  kindly,  very  kindly  lend  me  ten 
shillings  till  to-morrow'  night  ?  I  am  so  pressed  just  now — 

and  my  wife  is  ill  in  bed — and "  he  stopped,  and  his 

eyes  sought  her  face  hopefully,  yet  timidly. 

"  You  shouldn't  have  a  wife,  Tommy  !  "  averred  Yiolet 
with  blunt  frankness.  "  Wives  are  expensive  articles. 
Besides,  I  never  lend.  I  never  give — except  to  public 
charities  where  one's  name  gets  mentioned  in  the  papers, 
I'm  obliged  to  do  that,  you  know,  by  way  of  advertisement. 
Ten  shillings  1  Why,  I  can't  afford  ten  pence  !  My  bills 
would  frighten  you,  Tommy  !  There  go  along,  and  don't 
cry,  for  goodness  sake !  Let  your  fiddle  cry  for  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Vere,"  once  more  pleaded  Tommy,  "  if  you 
knew  how  my  wife  suffers " 

The  actress  rose  and  stamped  her  foot  impatiently. 

"  Bother  your  wife !  "  she  cried  angrily,  "  and  you  too  ! 
Look  out !  or  I  tell  the  manager  we've  got  a  beggar  at  the 
Brilliant.  Don't  stare  at  me  like  that  I  Go  to  the  d — 1 
with  you ! " 

Tommy  slunk  off  abashed  and  trembling,  and  the  Yere 
began  to  sing,  or  rather  croak,  a  low  comic  song,  while  she 
threw  over  her  shoulders  a  rich  mantle  glittering  with  em- 
broidered trimmings,  and  poised  a  coquettish  Paris  model 
hat  on  her  thick  uptwisted  coils  of  hair.  Thus  attired,  she 
passed  out  of  her  dressing-room,  locking  the  door  behind 
her,  and  after  a  brief  conversation  with  the  jocose  acting 


LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  377 

v 

manager,  whom  she  met  on  her  way  out,  she  left  the  theatre, 
and  took  a  cab  to  the  Criterion,  where  the  young  Puke  of 
Moorlands,  her  latest  conquest,  had  invited  her  to  a  sump- 
tuous luncheon  with  himself  and  friends,  all  men  of  fashion, 
who  were  running  through  what  money  they  had  as  fast  as 
they  could  go. 

Lady  Winsleigh,  on  her  way  home,  was  tormented  by 
sundry  uncomfortable  thoughts  and  sharp  pricks  of  con- 
science. Her  interview  with  Violet  Vere  had  instinctively 
convinced  her  that  Sir  Philip  was  innocent  of  the  intrigue 
imputed  to  him,  and  yet, — the  letter  she  had  now  in  her 
possession  seemed  to  prove  him  guilty.  And  though  she 
felt  herself  to  be  playing  a  vile  part,  she  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  trying  what  the  effect  would  be  of  this  com- 
promising document  on  Thelma's  trusting  mind.  It  was 
undoubtedly  a  very  incriminating  epistle — any  lawyer 
would  have  said  as  much,  while  blandly  pocketing  his  fee 
for  saying  it.  It  was  written  off  in  evident  haste,  and  ran 
as  follows : — 

"  Let  me  see  you  once  more  on  the  subject  you  know  of. 
Why  will  you  not  accept  the  honorable  position  offered  to 
you  ?  There  shall  be  no  stint  of  money — all  the  promises  I 
have  made  I  am  quite  ready  to  fulfill — you  shall  lose  noth- 
ing by  being  gentle.  Surely  you  cannot  continue  to  seem 
so  destitute  of  all  womanly  feeling  and  pity  ?  I  will  not 
believe  that  you  would  so  deliberately  condemn  to  death  a 
man  who  has  loved,  and  who  loves  you  still  so  faithfully, 
and  who,  without  you,  is  utterly  weary  of  life  and  broken- 
hearted !  Think  once  more — and  let  my  words  carry  more 
weight  with  you ! 

"  BRUCE-ERRINQTON." 

This  was  all,  but  more  than  enough  I 

"  I  wonder  what  he  means,"  thought  Ladj^  Winsleigh. 
"  It  looks  as  if  he  were  in  love  with  the  Vere  and  she  re- 
fused to  reciprocate.  It  must  be  that.  And  yet  that 
doesn't  accord  with  what  the  creature  herself  said  about  his 
'  preaching  at  her.'  He  wouldn't  do  that  if  he  were  in 
love." 

She  studied  every  word  of  the  letter  again  and  again,  and 
finally  folded  it  up  carefully  and  placed  it  in  her  pocket- 
book. 

"  Innocent  or  guilty,  Thelma  must  see  it,"  she  decided. 


378  THELMA. 

"I  wonder  how  she'll  take  it !  If  she  wants  a  proof — it's 
one  she'll  scarcely  deny.  Some  women  would  fret  them- 
selves to  death  over  it — but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  sat 
down  under  it  quite  calmly  without  a  word  of  complaint.'' 
She  frowned  a  little.  "  Why  must  she  alwa}-s  be  superior 
to  others  of  her  sex  I  How  I  detest  that  still  solemn  smile 
of  hers  and  those  big  bab}r-blue  eyes  I  I  think  if  Philip 
had  married  any  other  woman  than  she — a  woman  more 
like  the  rest  of  us  who'd  have  gone  with  her  time, — I  could 
have  forgiven  him  more  easily.  But  to  pick  up  a  Norwe- 
gian peasant  and  set  her  up  as  a  sort  of  moral  finger-post 
to  society — and  then  to  go  and  compromise  himself  with 
Violet  Vere — that's  a  kind  of  thing  I  can't  stand  I  I'd 
rather  be  anything  in  the  world  than  a  humbug  !  " 

Many  people  desire  to  be  something  they  are  not,  and 
her  ladyship  quite  unconsciously  echoed  this  rather  general 
sentiment.  She  was,  without  knowing  it,  such  an  adept  in 
society  humbug,  that  she  even  humbugged  herself.  She 
betrayed  herself  as  she  betrayed  others,  and  told  little 
soothing  lies  to  her  own  conscience  as  she  told  them  to  her 
friends.  There  are  plenty  of  women  like  her, — women  of 
pleasant  courtesy  and  fashion,  to  whom  truth  is  mere  coarse- 
ness,— and  with  whom  polite  lying  passes  for  perfect  breed- 
ing. She  was  not  aware,  as  she  was  driven  along  Park 
Lane  to  her  own  residence,  that  she  carried  with  her  on  the 
box  of  her  brougham  a  private  detective  in  the  person  of 
Briggs.  Perched  stiffly  on  his  seat,  with  arms  tightly 
folded,  this  respectable  retainer  was  quite  absorbed  in  med- 
itation, so  much  so  that  he  exchanged  not  a  word  with  his 
friend,  the  coachman,  beside  him.  He  had  his  own  notions 
of  propriety, — he  considered  that  his  mistress  had  no  busi- 
ness whatever  to  call  on  an  actress  of  Violet  Vere's  repute,, 
— and  he  resolved  that  whether  he  were  reproved  for  over- 
ofliciousness  or  not,  nothing  should  prevent  him  from  casu- 
ally mentioning  to  Lord  Winsleigh  the  object  of  her  lady- 
ship's drive  that  morning. 

"  For,"  mused  Briggs  gravely,  "  a  lady  'as  responsibili- 
ties, and  'owever  she  forgets  'erself,  appearances  'as  to  be 
kep'  up." 

With  the  afternoon,  the  fog  which  had  hung  over  the  city 
all  day,  deepened  and  darkened.  Thelma  had  lunched 
with  Mrs.  Lorimer,  and  bad  enjoyed  much  pleasant  chat 
with  that  kindly,  cheerful  old  lady.  She  had  confided  to 
her,  part  of  the  story  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox's  conduct, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  379 

carefully  avoiding  every  mention  of  the  circumstance  which 
had  given  rise  to  it, — namely,  the  discussion  about  Violet 
Vere.  She  merely  explained  that  she  had  suddenly  fainted, 
in  which  condition  Sir  Francis  had  taken  advantage  of  her 
helplessness  to  insult  her. 

Mrs.  Lorimer  was  highly  indignant.  "  Tell  your  husband 
all  about  it,  my  dear  !  "  she  advised.  "  He's  big  enough, 
and  strong  enough,  to  give  that  little  snob  a  good  trounc- 
ing !  My  patience  1  I  wish  George  were  in  London — he'd 
lend  a  hand  and  welcome !  " 

And  the  old  lady  nodded  her  head  violently  over  the  sock 
she  was  knitting, — the  making  of  socks  for  her  beloved  son 
was  her  principal  occupation  and  amusement. 

"  But  I  hear,"  said  Thelma,  "  that  it  is  against  the  law  to 
strike  any  one,  no  matter  how  you  have  been  insulted.  If 
so, — then  Philip  would  be  punished  for  attacking  Sir  Fran- 
cis, and  that  would  not  be  fair." 

"  You  didn't  think  of  that,  child,  when  you  struck  Len- 
nox yourself,"  returned  Mrs.  Lorimer,  laughing.  "  And  I 
guarantee  you  gave  him  a  good  hard  blow, — and  serve  him 
right!  Never  mind  what  comes  of  it,  my  dearie — just  tell 
your  husband  as  soon  as  ever  he  comes  home,  and  let  him 
take  the  matter  into  his  own  hands.  He's  a  fine  man — he'll 
know  how  to  defend  the  pretty  wife  he  loves  so  well ! " 
And  she  smiled,  while  her  shining  knitting-needles  clicked 
faster  than  ever. 

Thelma's  face  saddened  a  little.  "  I  think  I  am  not 
worthy  of  his  love,"  she  said  sorrowfully. 

Mrs.  Lorimer  looked  at  her  with  some  inquisitiveness. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Because  I  feel  it  so  much,"  she  replied.  "  Dear  Mrs. 
Lorimer,  yoi\  cannot,  perhaps,  understand — but  when  he 
married  me,  it  seemed  as  if  the  old  story  of  the  king  and 
the  beggar-maid  were  being  repeated  over  again.  I  sought 
nothing  but  his  love — his  love  was,  and  is  my  life  1  These 
riches — these  jewels  and  beautiful  things  he  surrounds  me 
with — I  do  not  care  for  them  at  all,  except  for  the  reason 
that  he  wishes  me  to  have  them.  I  scarcely  understand 
their  value,  for  I  have  been  poor  all  my  life,  and  yet  I  have 
wanted  nothing.  I  do  not  think  wealth  is  needful  to  make 
one  happy.  But  love — ah !  I  could  not  live  without  it — 
and  now — now —  She  paused,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 

sudden  tears. 

"  Now  what  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lorimer  gently. 


380  THELMA. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  girl  in  a  low  voice,  "  my  heart  is 
always  afraid  !  Yes  1  I  am  afraid  of  losing  my  husband's 
love.  Ah,  do  not  laugh  at  me,  dear  Mrs.  Lorimer  !  You 
know  people  who  are  much  together  sometimes  get  tired, — 
tired  of  seeing  the  same  face  always, — the  same  form " 

"  Are  you  tired,  dearie  ? "  asked  the  old  lady  meaningly. 

"  I  ?  Tired  of  Philip  ?  I  am  only  happy  when  he  is 
with  me  !  "  And  her  eyes  deepened  with  passionate  tender- 
ness. "  I  would  wish  to  live  and  die  beside  him,  and  I 
should  not  care  if  I  never  saw  another  human  face  than  his ! " 

"  Well,  and  don't  you  think  he  has  the  same  feelings  foi 
you  ?  " 

"  Men  are  different,  I  think,"  returned  Thelma  musingly 
"  Now,  love  is  everything  to  me — but  it  may  not  be  every- 
thing to  Philip.  I  do  believe  that  love  is  only  part  of  a 
man's  life,  while  it  is  all  a  woman's.  Clara  told  me  once 
that  most  husbands  wearied  of  their  wives,  though  they 
would  not  always  confess  it " 

"  Clara  Winsleigh's  modern  social  doctrines  are  false,  my 
dear  !  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Lorimer  quickly.  "  She  isn't  sat- 
isfied with  her  own  marriage,  and  she  thinks  everybody 
must  be  as  discontented  as  herself.  Now,  my  husband  and 
I  lived  alwa3rs  together  for  five  and  twenty  years, — and  we 
were  lovers  to  the  last  day,  when  my  darling  died  with  his 
hand  in  mine — and — and — if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  boy, — I 
should  have  died  too  1 " 

And  two  bright  tears  fell  glittering  on  the  old  lady's  knit- 
ting. 

Thelma  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  fondly.  "  I  can  un- 
derstand that,"  she  said  softly  ;  "  but  still, — still  I  do  be 
lieve  it  is  difficult  to  keep  love  when  you  have  won  it  1  It 
is,  perhaps,  easy  to  win — but  I  am  sure  it  is  hard  to  keep  1 " 

Mrs.  Lorimer  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"  My  dear  child,  don't  let  that  frivolous  Winsleigh 
woman  put  nonsense  into  your  pretty  head.  You  are  too 
sensible  to  take  such  a  morbid  view  of  things, — and  you 
mustn't  allow  your  wholesome  fresh  nature  to  be  contam- 
inated by  the  petulant,  wrong-headed  notions  that  cloud  the 
brains  of  idle,  fashionable,  useless  women.  Believe  me, 
good  men  don't  tire  of  their  wives — and  Sir  Philip  is  a  good 
man.  Good  wives  never  weary  their  husbands — and  you 
are  a  good  wife — and  you  will  be  a  good,  sweet  mother. 
Think  of  that  new  delight  so  soon  coming  for  you, — and 
leave  all  the  modern,  crazy,  one-sided  notions  of  human  life 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  381 

to  the  French  and  Russian  novelists.  Tut-tut !  "  continued 
the  old  lady  tenderly.  "  A  nice  little  ladyship  you  are, — 
worrying  yourself  about  nothing  !  Send  Philip  to  me  when 
he  comes  home — I'll  scold  him  for  leaving  his  bird  to  mope 
in  her  London  cage  !  " 

"  I  do  not  mope,"  declared  Thelma.  "  And  you  must 
not  scold  him,  please  !  Poor  boy !  He  is  working  so  very 
hard,  and  has  so  much  to  attend  to.  He  wants  to  distin- 
guish himself  for — for  my  sake  1 " 

"  That  looks  very  much  as  if  he  were  tired  of  you ! " 
laughed  Mrs.  Lorimer.  "  Though  I  dare  say  3^011  'd  like 
him  to  stay  at  home  and  make  love  to  you  all  day !  Silly 
girl !  You  want  the  world  to  be  a  sort  of  Arcadia,  with 
you  as  Phyllis,  and  Sir  Philip  as  Cory  don !  My  dear,  we're 
living  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  the  days  of  fond 
shepherds  and  languishing  shepherdesses  are  past  1 " 

Thelma  laughed  too,  and  felt  soon  ashamed  of  her  de- 
pression. The  figure  of  Violet  Yere  now  and  then  danced 
before  her  like  a  mocking  will-o'-the-wisp — but  her  pride 
forbade  her  to  mention  this, — the  actual  source  of  all  her 
vague  troubles. 

She  left  Mrs.  Lorimer's  house,  which  was  near  Holland 
Park,  about  four  o'clock,  and  as  she  was  passing  Church 
Street,  Kensington,  she  bade  her  coachman  drive  up  to  the 
Carmelite  Church  there,  familiarly  known  as  the  "  Carms." 
She  entered  the  sacred  edifice,  where  the  service  of  Bene- 
diction was  in  progress;  and,  kneeling  down,  she  listened 
to  the  exquisite  strains  of  the  solemn  music  that  pealed 
through  those  dim  and  shadowy  aisles,  and  a  sense  of  the 
most  perfect  peace  settled  soothingly  on  her  soul.  Clasp- 
ing her  gentle  hands,  she  prayed  with  innocent  and  heart- 
felt earnestness — not  for  herself, — never  for  herself, — but 
always,  always  for  that  dear,  most  dear  one,  for  whom 
every  beat  of  her  true  heart  was  a  fresh  vow  of  undying 
and  devoted  affection. 

"  Dear  God !  "  she  whispered,  "  if  I  love  him  too  much, 
forgive  me !  Thou  who  art  all  Love,  wilt  pardon  me  this 
excess  of  love !  Bless  my  darling  alwa}rs,  and  teach  me 
how  to  be  more  worthy  of  Thy  goodness  and  his  tenderness ! " 

And  when  she  left  the  church,  she  was  happier  and  more 
light-hearted  than  she  had  been  for  many  a  long  day.  She 
drove  home,  heedless  of  the  fog  and  cold,  dismal  aspect  of 
the  weather,  and  resolved  to  go  and  visit  Lady  Winsleigh 
in  the  evening,  so  that  when  Philip  came  back  on  the  mor- 


382  THELMA. 

row,  she  might  be  able  to  tell  him  that  she  had  amused 
herself,  and  had  not  been  lonely. 

But  when  she  arrived  at  her  own  door,  Morris,  who 
opened  it,  informed  her  that  Lady  Winsleigh  was  waiting 
in  the  drawing-room  to  see  her,  and  had  been  waiting  some 
time.  Thelma  hastened  thither  immediately,  and  held  out 
her  hands  joyously  to  her  friend. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  have  had  to  wait,  Clara  !  "  she  be- 
gan. "  Why  did  you  not  send  word  and  say  you  were  com- 
ing ?  Philip  is  away  and  will  not  be  back  to-night,  and  I 
have  been  lunching  with  Mrs.  Lorimer,  and — why,  what 
makes  you  look  so  grave  ?  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  regarded  her  fixedly.  How  radiantly 
lovely  the  young  wife  looked ! — her  cheeks  had  never  been 
more  delicately  rosy,  or  her  eyes  more  brilliant.  The  dark 
fur  cloak  she  wore  with  its  rich  sable  trimmings,  and  the 
little  black  velvet  toque  that  rested  on  her  fair  curls,  set  off 
the  beauty  of  her  clear  skin  to  perfection,  and  her  rival, 
who  stood  gazing  at  her  with  such  close  scrutiny,  envied 
her  more  than  ever  as  she  was  once  again  reluctantly 
forced  to  admit  to  herself  the  matchless  loveliness  of  the 
innocent  creature  whose  happiness  she  now  sought  to  destroy. 

"  Do  I  look  grave,  Thelma  ? "  she  said  with  a  slight 
smile.  "  Well,  perhaps  I've  a  reason  for  my  gravity.  And 
so  your  husband  is  away  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  went  quite  early  this  morning, — a  telegram 
summoned  him  and  he  was  obliged  to  go."  Here  she  drew 
up  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and  began  to  loosen  her  wraps.  "  Sit 
down,  Clara!  I  will  ring  for  tea." 

"No,  don't  ring,"  said  Lady  Winsleigh.  "Not  yet!  I 
want  to  talk  to  }rou  privately."  She  sank  languidly  on  a 
velvet  lounge  and  looked  Thelma  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"  Dear  Thelma,"  she  continued  in  a  sweetly  tremulous, 
compassionate  voice.  "  Can  you  bear  to  hear  something 
ver}'  painful  and  shocking,  something  that  I'm  afraid  will 
grieve  you  very  much  ?  " 

The  color  fled  from  the  girl's  fair  face — her  eyes  grew 
startled. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Clara?  Is  it  anything  about — 
about  Philip  ?  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  bent  her  head  in  assent,  but  remained 
silent. 

"  If,"  continued  Thelma,  with  a  little  return  of  the  rosy 
hue  to  ber  cheeks,  «'  If  it  is  something  else  about  that— 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  383 

that  person  at  the  theatre,  Clara,  I  would  rather  not  hear 
it !  I  think  I  have  been  wrong  in  listening  to  any  such 
stories — it  is  so  seldom  that  gossip  of  an}'  kind  is  true.  It 
is  not  a  wife's  duty  to  receive  scandals  about  her  husband. 
And  suppose  he  does  see  Miss  Vere,  how  do  I  know  that  it 
may  not  be  on  business  for  some  friend  of  his  ? — because  I 
do  know  that  on  that  night  when  he  went  behind  the  scenes 
at  the  Brilliant,  he  said  it  was  on  business.  Mr.  Lovelace 
used  often  to  go  and  see  Miss  Mary  Anderson,  all  to  per- 
suade her  to  take  a  play  written  by  a  friend  of  his — and 
Philip,  who  is  always  kind-hearted,  may  perhaps  be  doing 
something  of  the  same  sort.  I  feel  I  have  been  wicked  to 
have  even  a  small  doubt  of  my  husband's  love, — so,  Clara, 
do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  on  a  subject  which  only  dis- 
pleases me." 

"  You  must  choose  your  own  way  of  life,  of  course,"  said 
Lady  Winsleigh  coldly.  "  But  you  draw  rather  foolish 
comparisons,  Thelma.  There  is  a  wide  difference  between 
Mary  Anderson  and  Violet  Vere.  Besides,  Mr.  Lovelace 
is  a  bachelor, — he  can  do  as  he  likes  and  go  where  he  likes 
without  exciting  comment.  However,  whether  you  are 
angry  with  me  or  not,  I  feel  I  should  not  be  your  true 
friend  if  I  did  not  show  you — this.  You  know  your 
husband's  writing !  " 

And  she  drew  out  the  fatal  letter,  and  continued,  watch- 
ing her  victim  as  she  spoke,  "  This  was  sent  by  Sir  Philip 
to  Violet  Vere  last  night, — she  gave  it  to  me  herself  this 
morning." 

Thelma's  hand  trembled  as  she  took  the  paper. 

"  Why  should  I  read  it  ?  "  she  faltered  mechanically; 

Lady  Winsleigh  raised  her  eyebrows  and  frowned  im- 
patiently. 

"  Why — why  ?  Because  it  is  3Toui  duty  to  do  so !  Have 
you  no  pride  ?  Will  you  allow  your  husband  to  write  such 
a  letter  as  that  to  another  woman, — and  such  a  woman  too ! 
without  one  word  of  remonstrance  ?  You  owe  it  to  your- 
self— to  your  own  sense  of  honor — to  resent  and  resist  such 
treatment  on  his  part !  feu  rely  the  deepest  love  cannot 
pardon  deliberate  injury  and  insult." 

"  My  love  can  pardon  anything,"  answered  the  girl  in  a 
low  voice,  and  then  slowly,  very  slowly,  she  opened  the 
folded  sheet — slowly  she  read  every  word  it  contained, — 
words  that  stamped  themselves  one  by  one  on  her  bewil- 
dered brain  and  gent  it  reeling  into  darkness  and  vacancy- 


384  THELMA. 


She  felt  rfick  and  cold  —  she  stared  fixedly  at  her  husband's 
familiar  handwriting.  "  A  man  who  has  loved  and  who 
loves  you  still,  and  who  without  you  is  utterly  weary  and 
broken-hearted  !  " 

Thus  he  wrote  of  himself  to  —  to  Violet  Yere!  It  seemed 
incredible  —  yet  it  was  true  !  She  heard  a  rushing  sound  in 
her  ears  —  the  room  swung  round  dizzily  before  her  eyes  — 
yet  she  sate,  still,  calm  and  cold,  holding  the  letter  and 
speaking  no  word. 

Lady  Winsleigh  watched  her,  irritated  at  her  passionless 
demeanor. 

"  Well  !  "  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "  Have  you  nothing  to 
say  ?  " 

Thelma  looked  up,  her  eyes  burning  with  an  intense 
feverish  light. 

"  Nothing  !  "  she  replied. 

"  Nothing  ?  "  repeated  her  ladyship  with  emphatic  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Nothing  against  Philip,"  continued  the  girl  steadily. 
"  For  the  blame  is  not  his,  but  mine  !  That  he  is  weary 
and  broken-hearted  must  be  my  fault  —  though  I  cannot  yet 
understand  what  I  have  done.  But  it  must  be  something, 
because  if  I  were  all  that  he  wished  he  would  not  have 
grown  so  tired."  She  paused  and  her  pale  lips  quivered. 
"  I  am  sorry,"  she  went  on  with  dreamy  pathos,  "  sorrier 
for  him  than  for  myself,  because  now  I  see  I  am  in  the  way 
of  his  happiness."  A  quiver  of  agony  passed  over  her  face, 
—  she  fixed  her  large  bright  eyes  on  Lady  Winsleigh,  who 
instinctively  shrank  from  the  solemn  speechless  despair  of 
that  penetrating  gaze. 

"  Who  gave  you  this  letter,  Clara  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  I  told  you  before,  —  Miss  Yere  herself." 

"  Why  did  she  give  it  to  you  ?  "  continued  Thelma  in  a 
dull,  sad  voice. 

Lady  Winsleigh  hesitated  and  stammered  a  little.  "  Well, 
because  —  because  I  asked  her  if  the  stories  about  Sir  Philip 
were  true.  And  she  begged  me  to  nsk  him  not  to  visit  her 
so  often."  Then,  with  an  additional  thought  of  malice,  she 
said  softly.  "  She  doesn't  wish  to  wrong  3rou,  Thelma,  —  of 
course,  she's  not  a  very  good  woman,  but  I  think  she  feels 
sorry  for  you  !  " 

The  girl  uttered  a  smothered  cry  of  anguish,  as  though 
she  had  been  stabbed  to  the  heart.  She  !  —  to  be  actually 
pitied  by  Violet  Vere,  because  she  had  been  unable  to  keep 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  385 

her  husband's  love !  This  idea  tortured  her  very  soul, — 
but  she  was  silent. 

"  I  thought  you  were  my  friend,  Clara  ?  "  she  said  sud- 
denly, with  a  strange  wistfulness. 

"  So  I  am,  Thelma,"  murmured  Lady  Winsleigh,  a  guilty 
flush  coloring  her  cheeks. 

"  You  have  made  me  very  miserable,"  went  on  Thelma 
gravely,  and  with  pathetic  simplicity,  "  and  I  am  sorry 
indeed  that  we  ever  met.  I  was  so  happy  till  I  knewj^ou  ! 
— and  yet  I  was  very  fond  cf  you  !  I  am  sure  you  mean 
everything  for  the  best,  but  I  cannot  think  it  is  so.  And 
it  is  all  so  dark  and  desolate  now — why  have  you  taken 
such  pains  to  make  me  sad  ?  Why  have  you  so  often  tried 
to  make  me  doubt  my  husband's  love  ? — why  have  yon 
come  to-day  so  quickly  to  tell  me  I  have  lost  it  ?  But  for 
you,  I  might  never  have  known  this  sorrow, — I  might  have 
died  soon,  in  happy  ignorance,  believing  in  my  darling's 
truth  as  I  believe  in  God  ! '' 

Her  voice  broke,  and  a  hard  sob  choked  her  utterance. 
For  once  Lady  Winsleigh 's  conscience  smote  her — for  once 
she  felt  ashamed,  and  dared  not  offer  consolation  to  the  inno- 
cent soul  she  had  so  wantonly  stricken.  For  a  minute  or 
two  there  was  silence — broken  only  by  the  monotonous 
ticking  of  the  clock  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire. 

Presently  Thelma  spoke  again.  "  I  will  ask  you  to  go 
away  now  and  leave  me,  Clara,"  she  said  simply.  "  When 
the  heart  is  sorrowful,  it  is  best  to  be  alone.  Good-bye  1 " 
And  she  gently  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Poor  Thelma !"  said  Lady  Winsleigh,  taking  it  with 
an  affectation  of  tenderness.  "  What  will  3-011  do?  " 

Thelma  did  not  answer ;  she  sat  mute  and  rigid. 

"  You  are  thinking  unkindly  of  me  just  now,"  continned 
Clara  softly ;  "  but  I  felt  it  was  my  duty  to  tell  you  the 
worst  at  once.  It's  no  good  living  in  a  delusion  1  I'm 
very,  very  sorry  for  you,  Thelma  I  " 

Thelma  remained  perfectly  silent.  Lady  Winsleigh 
moved  towards  the  door,  and  as  she  opened  it  looked 
back  at  her.  The  girl  might  have  been  a  lifeless  figure 
for  any  movement  that  could  be  perceived  about  her.  Her 
face  was  white  as  marble — her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
sparkling  fire — her  very  hands  looked  stiff  and  pallid  as 
wax,  as  they  lay  clasped  in  her  lap — the  letter — the  cruel 
letter, — had  fallen  at  her  feet.  She  seemed  as  one  in  a 
trance  of  misery — and  so  Lady  Winsleigh  left  her. 


386  THELMA. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"Omy  lord,  O  Love, 
I  have  laid  my  life  at  thy  feet ; 
Have  thy  will  thereof 
For  what  shall  please  thee  is  sweet ! " 

SWINBUBNE. 

SHE  roused  herself  at  last.  Unclasping  her  hands,  she 
pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  brows  and  sighed  heavily. 
Shivering  as  with  intense  cold,  she  rose  from  the  chair  she 
had  so  long  occupied,  and  stood  upright,  mechanically 
gathering  around  her  the  long  fur  mantle  that  she  had  not 
as  yet  taken  off.  Catching  sight  of  the  letter  where  it  lay, 
a  gleaming  speck  of  white  on  the  rich  dark  hues  of  the 
carpet,  she  picked  it  up  and  read  it  through  again  calmly 
and  comprehensively, — then  folded  it  up  carefully  as 
though  it  were  something  of  inestimable  value.  Her 
thoughts  were  a  little  confused, — she  could  only  realize 
clearly  two  distinct  things, — first,  that  Philip  was  un- 
happy,— secondty,  that  she  was  in  the  way  of  his  happiness. 
She  did  not  pause  to  consider  how  this  change  in  him  had 
been  effected, — moreover,  she  never  imagined  that  the  letter 
he  had  written  could  refer  to  any  one  but  himself.  Hers 
was  a  nature  that  accepted  facts  as  they  appeared — she 
never  sought  for  ulterior  motives  or  disguised  meanings. 
True,  she  could  not  understand  her  husband's  admiration 
for  Violet  Vere,  u  But  then  " — she  thought — "  many  other 
men  admire  her  too.  And  so  it  is  certain  there  must  be 
something  about  her  that  wins  love, — something  I  cannot 
see ! " 

And  presently  she  put  aside  all  other  considerations,  and 
only  pondered  on  one  thing, — how  should  slie  remove  her- 
self from  the  path  of  her  husband's  pleasure  ?  For  she  had  no 
doubt  but  that  she  was  an  obstacle  to  his  enjoyment.  He 
had  made  promises  to  Violet  Vere  which  he  was  "  ready  to 
fulfill," — he  offered  her  "an  honorable  position," — lie  de- 
sired her  "  not  to  condemn  him  to  death," — he  besought  her 
to  let  his  words  "  carry  more  weight  with  her." 

"  It  is  because  I  am  here,"  thought  Thelma  wearily. 
''  She  would,  listen  t0  Wm  if  I  were  gone  !  "  She  had  the 


TEE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  387 

strangest  notions  of  wifely  duty — odd  minglings  of  the 
stern  Norse  customs  with  the  gentler  teachings  of  Chris- 
tianity,— yet  in  both  cases  the  lines  of  woman's  life  were 
clearly  defined  in  one  word — obedience.  Most  women,  re- 
ceiving an  apparent  proof  of  a  husband's  infidelity,  would 
have  made  what  is  termed  a  "  scene," — would  have  con- 
fronted him  with  rage  and  tears,  and  personal  abuse, — 
but  Thelma  was  too  gentle  for  this, — too  gentle  to  resist 
what  seemed  to  be  Philip's  wish  and  will,  and  far  too  proud 
to  stay  where  it  appeared  evident  she  was  not  wanted. 
Moreover  she  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  speaking  to  him  on 
such  a  subject  as  his  connection  with  Violet  Yere, — the  hot 
color  flushed  her  cheeks  with  a  sort  of  shame  as  she  though^ 
of  it. 

Of  course,  she  was  weak — of  course,  she  was  foolish, — 
we  will  grant  tb  t  she  was  anything  the  reader  chooses  to 
call  her.  It  is  much  better  for  a  woman  nowadays  to  be  de- 
fiant rather  than  yielding, — aggressive,  not  submissive, — 
violent,  not  meek.  We  all  know  that !  To  abuse  a  hus- 
band well  all  round,  is  the  modern  method  of  managing 
him !  But  poor,  foolish,  loving,  sensitive  Thelma  had 
nothing  of  the  magnificent  strength  of  mind  possessed  by 
most  wives  of  to-day, — she  could  only  realize  that  Philip 
— her  Philip — was  "  utterly  weary  and  broken-hearted  " — 
for  the  sake  of  another  woman — and  that  other  woman 
actually  pitied  her!  She  pitied  herself  too,  a  little  vaguely 
— her  brows  ached  and  thro  bed  violently — there  was  a 
choking  sensation  in  her  throat,  but  she  could  not  weep. 
Tears  would  have  relieved  her  tired  brain,  but  no  tears 
fell.  She  strove  to  decide  on  some  immediate  plan  of 
action, — Philip  would  be  home  to-morrow, — she  recoiled  at 
the  thought  of  meeting  him,  knowing  what  she  knew. 
Glancing  dreamily  at  her  own  figure,  reflected  by  the  lamp- 
light in  the  long  mirror  opposite,  she  recognized  that  she 
was  fully  attired  in  outdoor  costume — all  save  her  hat, 
which  she  had  taken  off  after  her  first  greeting  of  Lady 
Winsleigh,  and  which  was  still  on  the  table  at  her  side. 
She  looked  at  the  clockv — it  was  five  minutes  to  seven. 
Eight  o'clock  was  her  dinner-hour,  and  thinking  of  this, 
she  suddenly  rang  the  bell,  Morris  immediately  answered 
it.- 

"  I  shall  not  dine  at  home,"  she  said  in  her  usual  gentle 
voice ;  "  I  am  going  to  see  some  friend  this  evening,  I  may 
pot  be  back  tUMUl  late." 


388  THELMA. 

"  Veiy  well,  my  lady,"  and  Morris  retired  without  seeing 
anything  remarkable  in  his  mistress's  announcement. 
Thelma  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  he  disappeared,  and, 
steadying  her  nerves  by  a  strong  effort,  passed  into  her  own 
boudoir, — the  little  sanctum  specially  endeared  to  her  by 
Philip's  frequent  presence  there.  How  cosy  and  comfort- 
able a  home-nest  it  looked  ! — a  small  fire  glowed  warmly  in 
the  grate,  and  Britta,  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  this  par- 
ticular room  in  order,  had  lit  the  lamp, — a  rosy  globe  sup- 
ported by  a  laughing  cupid, — and  had  drawn  the  velvet  cur- 
tains close  at  the  window  to  keep  out  the  fog  and  chilly  air 
— there  were  fragrant  flowers  on  the  table, — Thelma's  own 
favorite  lounge  was  drawn  up  to  the  fender  in  readiness  for 
her, — opposite  to  it  stood  the  deep,  old-fashioned  easy  chair 
in  which  Philip  always  sat.  She  looked  round  upon  all 
these  familiar  things  with  a  dreary  sense  of  strangeness  and 
desolation,  and  the  curves  of  her  sweet  mouth  trembled  a 
little  and  drooped  piteously.  But  her  resolve  was  taken, 
and  she  did  not  hesitate  or  weep.  She  sat  down  to  her 
desk  and  wrote  a  few  brief  lines  to  her  father — this  letter 
she  addressed  and  stamped  ready  for  posting. 

Then  for  a  while  she  remained  apparently  lost  in  painful 
musings,  playing  with  the  pen  she  held,  and  uncertain  what 
to  do.  Presently  she  drew  a  sheet  of  note-paper  toward 
her,  and  began,  "  My  darling  boy."  As  these  words  ap- 
peared under  her  hand  on  the  white  page,  her  forced  calm 
nearly  gave  way, — a  low  cry  of  intense  agony  escaped  from 
her  lips,  and,  dropping  the  pen,  she  rose  and  paced  the  room 
restlessly,  one  hand  pressed  against  her  heart  as  though  that 
action  could  still  its  rapid  beatings.  Once  more  she  essayed 
the  hard  task  she  had  set  herself  to  fulfill — the  task  of  bid- 
ding farewell  to  the  husband  in  whom  her  life  was  centred. 
Piteous,  passionate  words  came  quickly  from  her  over- 
charged and  almost  breaking  heart — words,  tender,  touch- 
ing,— full  of  love,  and  absolutely  free  from  all  reproach. 
Little  did  she  guess  as  she  wrote  that  parting  letter,  what 
desperate  misery  it  would  cause  to  the  receiver  ! — 

When  she  had  finished  it,  she  felt  quieted — even  more 
composed  than  before.  She  folded  and  sealed  it — then  put 
it  out  of  sight  and  rang  for  Britta.  That  little  maiden 
soon  appeared,  and  seemed  surprised  to  see  her  mistress  still 
in  walking  costume. 

"  Have  you  only  just  come  in,  Froken  ?  "  she  ventured  to 
inquire, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  389 

"  No,  I  came  home  some  time  ago,"  returned  Thelma 
gently.  "  But  I  was  talking  to  Lady  Winsleigh  in  the 
drawing-room, — and  as  I  am  going  out  again  this  evening  I 
shall  not  require  to  change  my  dress.  1  want  you  to  post 
this  letter  for  me,  Britta."  « 

And  she  held  out  the  one  addressed  to  her  father,  Olaf 
Giildmar.  Britta  took  it,  but  her  mind  still  revolved  the 
question  of  her  mistress's  attire. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  spend  the  evening  with  friends,"  she 
suggested,  "  would  it  not  be  better  to  change  ?  " 

"  I  have  on  a  velvet  gown,"  said  Thelma,  with  a  rather 
wearied  patience.  "  It  is  quite  dressy  enough  for  where  I 
am  going."  She  paused  abruptly,  and  Britta  looked  at  her 
inquiringly. 

"  Are  you  tired,  Froken  Thelma  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You  are 
so  pale !  " 

"  I  have  a  slight  headache,"  Thelma  answered.  "  It  is 
nothing, — it  will  soon  pass.  I  wish  you  to  post  that  letter 
at  once,  Britta." 

"  Very  well,  Froken."  Britta  still  hesitated.  "  Will  you 
be  out  all  the  evening  ?  "  was  her  next  query. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  perhaps  you  will  not  mind  if  I  go  and  see  Louise, 
and  take  supper  with  her  ?  She  has  asked  me,  and  Mr. 
Briggs  " — here  Britta  laughed — "  is  coming  to  see  if  I  can 
go.  He  will  escort  me,  he  says  !  "  And  she  laughed  again. 

Thelma  forced  herself  to  smile.  "  You  can  go,  by  all 
means,  Britta  1  But  I  thought  you  did  not  like  Lady  Win- 
sleigh's  French  maid  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  her  much,"  Britta  admitted — "  still,  she 
means  to  be  kind  and  agreeable,  I  think.  And  " — here 
she  eyed  Thelma  with  a  mysterious  and  important  air — "  I 
want  to  ask  her  a  question  about  something  very  partic- 
ular." 

"  Then,  go  and  stay  as  long  as  you  like,  dear,"  said 
Thelma,  a  sudden  impulse  off  affection  causing  her  to  caress 
softly  her  little  maid  s  ruffled  brown  curls,  "  I  shall  not  be 
back  till — till  quite  late.  And  when  you  return  from  the 
post,  I  shall  be  gone — so — good-bye  !  " 

"  Good-bye  !  "  exclaimed  Britta  wonderingly.  "  Why, 
where  are  you  going  ?  One  would  think  you  were  starting 
on  a  long  journey.  You  speak  so  strangely,  Froken  !  " 

"  Do  I  ?  "  and  Thelma  smiled  kindly.    "  It  is  because  my 


390  THELMA. 

head  aches,  I  suppose.  But  it  is  not  strange  to  say  good 
bye,  Britta ! " 

Britta  caught  her  hand.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  she 
persisted. 

"  To  see  some  friends,"  responded  Thelma  quietly.  "  Now 
do  not  ask  any  more  questions,  Britta,  but  go  and  post  my 
letter.  I  want  father  to  get  it  as  soon  as  possible,  and  you 
will  lose  the  post  if  you  are  not  very  quick." 

Thus  reminded,  Britta  hastened  oft',  determining  to  run 
all  the  way,  in  order  to  get  back  before  her  mistress  left  the 
house.  Thelma,  however,  was  too  quick  for  her.  As  soon 
as  Britta  had  gone,  she  took  the  letter  she  had  written  to 
Philip,  and  slipped  it  within  the  pages  of  a  small  volume 
of  poems  he  had  lately  been  reading.  "It  was  a  new  book, 
entitled  "  Gladys  the  Singer,"  and  its  leading  meiif  was 
the  old,  never-exhausted  subject  of  a  woman's  too  faithful 
love,  betrayal,  and  despair.  As  she  opened  it,  her  eyes  fell 
by  chance  on  a  few  lines  of  hopeless  yet  musical  melan- 
choly, which,  like  a  sad  song  heard  suddenly,  made  her 
throat  swell  with  rising  -yet  restrained  tears.  They  ran 
thus : — 

"  Oh  !  I  can  drown,  or,  like  a  broken  lyre, 
Be  thrown  to  earth,  or  cast  upon  a  fire, — 
I  can  be  made  to  feel  the  pangs  of  death, 
And  yet  be  constant  to  the  quest  of  breath, — 
Our  poor  pale  trick  of  living  through  the  lies 
We  name  Existence  when  that  'something'  dies 
Which  we  call  Honor.     Many  and  many  a  way 
Can  I  be  struck  or  fretted  night  or  day 
In  some  new  fashion, — or  condemn'd  the  while 
To  take  for  food  the  semblance  of  a  smile, — 
The  left-off  rapture  of  a  slain  caress, — " 

Ah  ! — she  caught  her  breath  sobbingly,  "  The  left-off  rap- 
ture of  a  slain  caress  !  "  Yes, — that  would  be  her  portion 
now  if — if  she  stayed  to  receive  it.  But  she  would  not 
stay !  She  turned  over  the  volume  abstractedly,  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  action, — and  suddenly,  as  if  the  poet- 
writer  of  it  had  been  present  to  probe  her  soul  and  make 
her  inmost  thoughts  public,  she  read  : — 

"  Because  I  am  unlov'd  of  thee  to-day, 
And  undesired  as  sea- weeds  in  the  sea  ! " 

Yes  ! — that  was  the  "  because  "  of  everything  that  swayed 
her  sorrowful  spirit, — "  because  "  she  was  "  unlov'd  and 
undesired." 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  391 

She  hesitated  no  longer,  but  shut  the  book  with  her  fare- 
well letter  inside  it,  and  put  it  back  in  its  former  place  on 
the  little  table  beside  Philip's  arm-chair.  Then  she  con- 
sidered how  she  should  distinguish  it  by  some  mark  that 
should  attract  her  husband's  attention  toward  it, — and 
loosening  from  her  neck  a  thin  gold  chain  on  which  was 
suspended  a  small  diamond  cross  with  the  names  "  Philip  " 
and  "  Thelma  "  engraved  at  the  back,  she  twisted  it  round 
the  little  book,  and  left  it  so  that  the  sparkle  of  the  jewels 
should  be  seen  distinctly  on  the  cover.  Now  was  there  any- 
thing more  to  be  done  ?  She  divested  herself  of  all  her  val- 
uable ornaments,  keeping  only  her  wedding-ring  and  its 
companion  circlet  of  brilliants, — she  emptied  her  purse  of 
all  money  save  that  which  was  absolutely  necessary  for  her 
journey — then  she  put  on  her  hat,  and  began  to  fasten  her 
long  cloak  slowly,  for  her  fingers  were  icy  cold  and  trembled 
very  strangely.  Stay, — there  was  her  husband's  portrait, 
— she  might  take  that,  she  thought,  with  a  sort  of  touching 
timidity.  It  was  a  miniature  on  ivory — and  had  been 
painted  expressly  for  her, — she  placed  it  inside  her  dress, 
against  her  bosom. 

"  He  has  been  too  good  to  me,"  she  murmured  ;  "  and  I 
have  been  too  happy, — happier  than  I  deserved  to  be.  Ex- 
cess of  happiness  must  always  end  in  sorrow." 

She  looked  dreamily  at  Philip's  empty  chair — in  fancy 
she  could  see  his  familiar  figure  seated  there,  and  she  sighed 
as  she  thought  of  the  face  she  loved  so  well, — the  passion 
of  his  eyes, — the  tenderness  of  his  smile.  Softly  she  kissed 
the  place  where  his  head  had  rested, — then  turned  resolutely 
away. 

She  was  giving  up  everything,  she  thought,  to  another 
woman, — but  then — that  other  woman,  however  incredible 
it  seemed,  was  the  one  Philip  loved  best, — his  own  written 
words  were  a  proof  of  this.  There  was  no  choice  therefore, 
— his  pleasure  was  her  first  consideration, — everything 
must  yield  to  that,  so  she  imagined, — her  own  life  was 
nothing,  in  her  estimation,  compared  to  his  desire.  Such 
devotion  as  hers  was  of  course  absurd — it  amounted  to  weak 
self-immolation,  and  would  certainly  be  accounted  as  su- 
premely foolish  by  most  women  who  have  husbands,  and 
who,  when  they  swear  to  "  obey,"  mean  to  break  the  vow 
at"  every  convenient  opportunity — but  Thelma  could  not 
alter  her  strange  nature,  and,  with  her,  obedience  meant 
the  extreme  letter  of  the  law  ol  inter  submission. 


392  THELMA. 

Leaving  the  room  she  had  so  lately  called  her  own,  sh« 
passed  into  the  entrance-hall.  Morris  was  not  there,  and 
she  did  not  summon  him, — she  opened  the  street-door  for 
herself,  and  shutting  it  quietly  behind  her,  she  stood  alone 
in  the  cold  street,  where  the  fog  had  now  grown  so  dense 
that  the  lamp-posts  were  scarcely  visible.  She  walked  on 
for  a  few  paces  rather  bewildered  and  chilled  by  the  piercing 
bitterness  of  the  air, — then,  rallying  her  forces,  she  hailed  a 
passing  cab,  and  told  the  man  to  take  her  to  Charing  Cross 
Station.  She  was  not  familiar  with  London — and  Charing 
Cross  was  the  only  great  railway  terminus  she  could  just 
then  think  of. 

Arrived  there,  the  glare  of  the  electric  light,  the  jostling 
passengers  rushing  to  and  from  the  trains,  the  shouts  and 
wrangling  of  porters  and  cabmen,  confused  her  not  a  little, 
— and  the  bold  looks  of  admiration  bestowed  on  her  freely 
by  the  male  loungers  sauntering  near  the  doors  of  the  res- 
taurant and  hotel,  made  her  shrink  and  tremble  for  shame. 
She  had  never  travelled  entirely  alone  before — and  she  be- 
gan to  be  frightened  at  the  pandemonium  of  sights  and 
noises  that  surged  around  her.  Yet  she  never  once  thought 
of  returning, — she  never  dreamed  of  going  to  any  of  her 
London  friends,  lest  on  hearing  of  her  trouble  they 
might  reproach  Philip-— and  this  Thelma  would  not  have 
endured.  For  the  same  reason,  she  had  said  nothing  to 
Britta. 

In  her  then  condition,  it  seemed  to  her  that  only  one 
course  lay  open  for  her  to  follow, — and  that  was  to  go 
quietly  home, — home  to  the  Altenfjord.  No  one  would  be 
to  blame  for  her  departure  but  herself,  she  thought, — and 
Philip  would  be  free.  Thus  she  reasoned, — if,  indeed,  she 
reasoned  at  all.  But  there  was  such  a  frozen  stillness  in 
her  soul — her  senses  were  so  numbed  with  pain,  that  as  yet 
she  scarcely  realized  either  what  had  happened  or  what  she 
herself  was  doing.  She  was  as  one  walking  in  sleep — the 
awakening,  bitter  as  death,  was  still  to  come. 

Presently  a  great  rush  of  people  began  to  stream  towards 
her  from  one  of  the  platforms,  and  trucks  of  luggage,  her- 
alded by  shouts  of,  "  Out  of  the  way,  there  !  "  and  "  By'r 
leave !  "  came  trundling  rapidly  along — the  tidal  train  from 
the  Continent  had  just  arrived. 

Dismayed  at  the  inci  easing  confusion  and  uproar,  Thelma 
addressed  herself  to  an  orticial  with  a  gold  baud  round  his 
bat. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  393 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  she  asked  timidly,  "  where  I  shall 
take  a  ticket  for  Hull  ?  " 

The  man  glanced  at  the  fair,  anxious  face,  and  smiled 
good-humoredly. 

"  You've  come  to  the  wrong  station,  miss,"  he  said. 
"  You  want  the  Midland  line." 

"  The  Midland  ? "  Thelma  felt  more  bewildered  than 
ever. 

"  Yes, — the  Midland"  he  repeated  rather  testily.  "  It's  a 
good  way  from  here — you'd  better  take  a  cab." 

She  moved  away, — but  started  and  drew  herself  back 
into  a  shadowed  corner,  coloring  deeply  as  the  sound  of  a 
rich,  mellifluous  voice,  which  she  instantly  recognized, 
smote  suddenly  on  her  ears. 

"  And  as  I  before  remarked,  my  good  fellow,"  the  voice 
was  saying,  "  I  am  not  a  disciple  of  the  semi-obscure.  If 
a  man  has  a  thought  which  is  worth  declaring,  let  him 
declare  it  with  a  free  and  noble  utterance — don't  let  him 
wrap  it  up  in  multifarious  parcels  of  dreary  verbosity  \ 
There's  too  much  of  that  kind  of  thing  going  on  nowa- 
days— in  England,  at  least.  There's  a  kind  of  imitation  of 
art  which  isn't  art  at  all, — a  morbid,  bilious,  bad  imitation. 
You  only  get  close  to  the  real  goddess  in  Italy.  I  wish 
I  could  persuade  you  to  come  and  pass  the  winter  with  me 
there  ?  " 

It  was  Beau  Lovelace  who  spoke,  and  he  was  talking  to 
George  Lorimer.  The  two  had  met  in  Paris, — Lovelace 
was  on  his  way  to  London,  where  a  matter  of  business 
summoned  him  for  a  few  days,  and  Lorimer,  somewhat  tired1 
of  the  French  capital,  decided  to  return  with  him.  And' 
here  they  were, — just  arrived  at  Charing  Cross, — and  they/ 
walked  across  the  station  arm  in  arm,  little  imagining  who 
watched  them  from  behind  the  shelter  of  one  of  the  waiting- 
room  doors,  with  a  yearning  sorrow  in  her  grave  blue  eyes. 
They  stopped  almost  opposite  to  her  to  light  their  cigars, — 
she  saw  Lorimer's  face  quite  distinctly,  and  heard  his 
answer  to  Lovelace. 

"  Well,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  about  it,  Beau !  You 
know  my  mother  always  likes  to  get  away  from  London  in 
winter — but  whether  we  ought  to  inflict  ourselves  upon 
you, — you  being  a  literary  man  too " 

"  Nonsense,  you  won't  interfere  in  the  least  with  the  flow 
of  inky  inspiration,"  laughed  Beau.  "  And  as  for  your 
mother,  I'm  in  love  with  her,  as  you  are  aware  1  I  admire 


894  THELMA. 

her  almost  as  much  as  I  do  Lady  Bruce-Errington — and 
that's  saying  a  great  deal !  By-the-by,  if  Phil  can  get 
through  his  share  of  this  country's  business,  he  might  do 
worse  than  bring  his  beautiful  Thehna  to  the  Lake  of  Como 
for  a  while.  I'll  ask  him  !  " 

And  having  lit  their  Havannas  successfully,  they  walked 
on  and  soon  disappeared.  For  one  instant  Thelma  felt 
strongly  inclined  to  run  after  them,  like  a  little  forlorn 
child  that  had  lost  its  way, — and,  unburdening  herself  of 
all  her  miseries  to  the  sympathetic  George,  entreat,  with 
tears,  to  be  taken  back  to  that  husband  who  did  not  want 
her  any  more.  But  she  soon  overcame  this  emotion, — and 
calling  to  mind  the  instructions  of  the  official  personage 
whose  advice  she  had  sought,  she  hurried  out  of  the  huge, 
brilliantly  lit  station,  and  taking  a  hansom,  was  driven,  as 
she  requested,  to  the  Midland.  Here  the  rather  gloomy 
aspect  of  the  place  oppressed  her  as  much  as  the  garish 
bustle  of  Charing  Cross  had  bewildered  her, — but  she  was 
somewhat  relieved  when  she  learned  that  a  train  for  Hull 
would  start  in  ten  minutes.  Hunting  to  the  ticket-office 
she  found  there  before  her  a  kindly  faced  woman  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms,  who  was  just  taking  a  third-class  ticket 
to  Hull,  and  as  she  felt  lonely  and  timid,  Thelma  at  once 
decided  to  travel  third-class  also,  and  if  possible  in  the  same 
compartment  with  this  cheerful  matron,  who,  as  soon  as  she 
had  secured  her  ticket,  walked  awa}"  to  the  train,  hushing 
her  infant  in  her  arms  as  she  went.  Thelma  followed  her 
at  a  little  distance — and  as  soon  as  she  saw  her  enter  a 
third-class  carriage,  she  hastened  her  steps  and  entered 
also,  quite  thankful  to  have  secured  some  companionship 
for  the  long  cold  journey.  The  woman  glanced  at  her  a 
little  curiously — it  was  strange  to  see  so  lovely  and  young 
a  creature  travelling  all  alone  at  night, — and  she  asked 
kindly 

"  Be  you  goin'  fur,  miss  ?  " 

Thelma  smiled — it  was  pleasant  to  be  spoken  to,  she 
thought. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.     "  All  the  way  to  Hull." 

"  'Tis  a  cold  night  for  a  journey,"  continued  her  com- 
panion. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answerc  1  Thelma.  "  It  must  be  cold  for 
your  little  baby." 

And  unconsciously  her  voice  softened  and  her  eyes  grew 
sad  as  she  looked  across  at  the  sleeping  infant. 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  396 

"  Oh,  he's  as  warm  as  toast ! "  laughed  the  mother 
cheerily.  "  He  gets  the  best  of  everything,  he  do.  It's 
yourself  that's  looking  cold,  my  dear  in  spite  of  your 
warm  cloak.  Will  ye  have  this  shawl  ?  " 

And  she  offered  Thehna  a  homely  gray  woollen  wrap  with 
much  kindly  earnestness  of  manner. 

"  I  am  quite  warm,  thank  you,"  said  Thelma  gently,  ac- 
cepting the  shawl,  however,  to  please  her  fellow-traveller. 
"  It  is  a  headache  I  have  which  makes  me  look  pale.  And 
I  am  very,  very  tired  !  " 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little, — she  sighed  and  closed  her 
eyes.  She  felt  strangely  weak  and  giddy, — she  seemed  to 
be  slipping  away  from  herself  and  from  all  the  comprehen- 
sion of  life, — she  wondered  vaguely  who  and  what  she  was. 
Had  her  marriage  with  Philip  been  all  a  dream  ? — perhaps 
she  had  never  left  the  Altenfjord  after  all !  Perhaps  she 
would  wake  up  presently  and  see  the  old  farm-house  quite 
unchanged,  with  the  doves  flying  about  the  roof,  and  Sigurd 
wandering  under  the  pines  as  was  his  custom.  Ah,  dear 
Sigurd  I  Poor  Sigurd !  he  had  loved  her,  she  thought — 
nay,  he  loved  her  still, — he  could  not  be  dead  1  Oh,  yes, — 
she  must  have  been  dreaming, — she  felt  certain  she  was 
lying  on  her  own  little  white  bedat  home,  asleep  ; — she  would 
by-and-by  open  her  eyes  and  get  up  and  look  through  her 
little  latticed  window,  and  see  the  sun  sparkling  on  the 
water,  and  the  Eulalie  at  the  anchor  in  the  Fjord — and  her 
father  would  ask  Sir  Philip  and  his  friends  to  spend  the 
afternoon  at  the  farm-house — and  Philip  would  come  and 
stroll  with  her  through  the  garden  and  down  to  the  shore, 
and  would  talk  to  her  in  that  low,  caressing  voice  of  his, — 
and  though  she  loved  him  dearly,  she  must  never,  never  let 
him  know  of  it,  because  she  was  not  worthy  1  ...  She 
woke  from  these  musings  with  a  violent  start  and  a  sick 
shiver  running  through  all  her  frame, — and  looking  wildly 
about  her, 'saw  that  she  was  reclining  on  some  one's 
shoulder, — some  one  was  dabbing  a  wet  hankerchief  on  her 
forehead — her  hat  was  off  and  her  cloak  was  loosened. 

"  There,  my  dear,  you're  better  now !  "  said  a  kindly 
voice  in  her  ear.  "  Lor !  I  thought  you  was  dead — that  I 
did  1  'Twas  a  bad  faint  indeed.  And  with  the  train  jolting 
along  like  this  too  1  It  was  lucky  I  had  a  flask  of  cold  wa- 
ter with  me.  Raise  your  head  a  little — that's  it !  Poor 
thing, — you're  as  white  as  a  sheet !  You're  not  fit  to  travel, 
my  dear — you're  not  indeed," 


396  THELMA. 

Thelma  raised  herself  slowly,  and  with  a  sudden  impulse 
kissed  the  good  woman's  honest,  rosy  face,  to  her  intense 
astonishment  and  pleasure. 

'•  You  are  very  kind  to  me !  "  she  said  tremulously.  "  I 
am  so  sorry  to  have  troubled  you.  I  do  feel  ill — but  it  will 
soon  pass." 

And  she  smoothed  her  ruffled  hair,  and  sitting  up  erect, 
endeavored  to  smile.  Her  companion  eyed  her  pale  face 
compassionately,  and  taking  up  her  sleeping  baby  from  the 
shawl  on  which  she  had  laid  it  while  ministering  to  Thel- 
ma's  needs,  began  to  rock  it  slowly  to  and  fro.  Thelma, 
meanwhile,  became  sensible  of  the  rapid  movement  of  the 
train. 

"  We  have  left  London  ?  "  she  asked  with  an  air  of  sur- 
prise. 

"  Nearly  half  an  hour  ago,  my  dear."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  she  had  watched  Thelma  very  closely, 
she  said — 

"  I  think  you're  married,  aren't  you,  dearie  ?" 

"  Yes."  Thelma  answered,  a  slight  tinge  of  color  warm- 
ing her  fair  pale  cheeks. 

"  Your  husband,  maybe,  will  meet  3-011  at  Hull  ?" 

"  No, — he  is  in  London,"  said  Thelma  simply.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  see  my  father." 

This  answer  satisfied  her  humble  friend,  who,  noticing 
her  extreme  fatigue  and  the  effort  it  cost  her  to  speak,  for- 
bore to  ask  any  more  questions,  but  good-naturedly  recom- 
mended her  to  try  and  sleep.  She  slept  soundly  herself  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  journey ;  but  Thelma  was  now 
feverishly  wide  awake,  and  her  eyeballs  ached  and  burned 
as  though  there  were  fire  behind  them. 

Gradually  her  nerves  began  to  be  wound  up  to  an  ex- 
treme tension  of  excitement — she  forgot  all  her  troubles  in 
listening  with  painful  intentness  to  the  rush  and  roar  of 
the  train  through  the  darkness.  The  lights  of  passing 
stations  and  signal-posts  gleamed  like  scattered  and  flying 
stars — there  was  the  frequent  shriek  of  the  engine-whistle, 
— the  serpent-hiss  of  escaping  steam.  She  peered  through 
the  window — all  was  blackness ;  there  seemed  to  be  no 
earth,  no  sky, — only  a  sable  chaos,  through  which  the  train 
flew  like  a  flame-mouthed  demon.  Always  that  rush  and 
roar !  She  began  to  feel  as  if  she  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
She  must  escape  from  that  continuous,  confusing  sound — it 
maddened  her  brain.  Nothing  was  easier ;  she  would  open 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  397 

the  carriage-door  and  get  out !  Surely  she  could  manage 
to  jump  off  the  step,  even  though  the  train  was  in  motion  ! 

Danger!  She  smiled  at  that  idea, — there  was  no  danger; 
and,  if  there  was,  it  did  not  much  matter.  Nothing  mat- 
tered now, — now  that  she  had  lost  her  husband's  love.  She 
glanced  at  the  woman  opposite,  who  slept  profoundly — the 
baby  had  slipped  a  little  from  its  mother's  arms,  and  lay 
with  its  tiny  face  turned  towards  Thelma.  It  was  a  pretty 
creature,  with  soft  cheeks  and  a  sweet  little  mouth, — she 
looked  at  it  with  a  vague,  wild  smile.  Again,  again  that 
rush  and  roar  surged  like  a  storm  in  her  ears  and  distracted 
her  mind !  She  rose  suddenly  and  seized  the  handle  of  the 
carriage  door.  Another  instant,  and  she  would  have  sprung 
to  certain  death, — when  suddenly  the  sleeping  baby  woke, 
and,  opening  its  mild  blue  eyes,  gazed  at  her. 

She  met  its  glance  as  one  fascinated, — almost  uncon- 
sciously her  fingers  dropped  from  the  door-handle, — the  lit- 
tle baby  still  looked  at  her  in  dreamlike,  meditative  fashion, 
— its  mother  slept  profoundly.  She  bent  lower  and  lower 
over  the  child.  With  a  beating  heart  she  ventured  to  touch 
the  small,  pink  hand  that  lay  outside  its  wrappings  like  a 
softly  curved  rose-leaf.  With  a  sort  of  elf-like  confidence 
and  contentment  the  feeble,  wee  fingers  closed  and  curled 
round  hers, — and  held  her  fast !  Weak  as  a  silken  thread, 
yet  stronger  in  its  persuasive  force  than  a  grasp  of  iron, 
that  soft,  light  pressure  controlled  and  restrained  her, 
.  .  .  very  gradually  the  mists  of  her  mind  cleared, — the 
rattling,  thunderous  dash  of  the  train  grew  less  dreadful, 
less  monotonous,  less  painful  to  her  sense  of  hearing, — her 
bosom  heaved  convulsively,  and  all  suddenly  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears — merciful  tears,  which  at  first  welled  up  slowly, 
and  were  hot  as  fire,  but  which  soon  began  to  fall  faster  and 
faster  in  large,  bright  drops  down  her  pale  cheeks.  Seeing 
that  its  mother  still  slept,  she  took  the  baby  gently  into  her 
own  fair  arms, — and  rocked  it  to  and  fro  with  many  a  sob- 
bing murmur  of  tenderness  ; — the  little  thing  smiled  drows- 
ily and  soon  fell  asleep  again,  all  unconscious  that  its 
timely  look  and  innocent  touch  had  saved  poor  Thelma's 
life  and  reason. 

She,  meanwhile,  wept  on  softly,  till  her  tired  brain  and 
heart  were  somewhat  relieved  of  their  heavy  burden, — the 
entanglement  of  her  thoughts  became  unravelled, — and, 
though  keenly  aware  of  the  blank  desolation  of  her  life,  she 
was  able  to  raise  herself  in  spirit  to  the  Giver  of  all  Love 


398  THELMA. 

and  Consolation,  and  to  pray  humbly  for  that  patience  and 
resignation  which  now  alone  could  serve  her  needs.  And 
she  communed  with  herself  and  God  in  silence,  as  the  train 
rushed  on  northwards.  Her  fellow-traveller  woke  up  as 
they  were  nearing  their  destination,  and,  seeing  her  holding 
the  baby,  was  profuse  in  her  thanks  for  this  kindness. 
And  when  they  at  last  reached  Hull,  about  half  an  hour 
after  midnight,  the  good  woman  was  exceedingly  anxious 
to  know  if  she  could  be  of  any  service, — but  Thelma 
gently,  yet  firmly,  refused  all  her  offers  of  assistance. 

They  parted  in  the  most  friendly  manner, — Thelma  kiss- 
ing the  child,  through  whose  unconscious  means,  as  she  now 
owned  to  herself,  she  had  escaped  a  terrible  death, — and 
then  she  went  directly  to  a  quiet  hotel  she  knew  of,  which 
was  kept  by  a  native  of  Christiania,  a  man  who  had  for- 
merly been  acquainted  with  her  father.  At  first,  when  this 
worthy  individual  saw  a  lady  arrive,  alone,  young,  richly 
dressed,  and  without  luggage,  he  was  inclined  to  be  suspi- 
cious,— but  as  soon  as  she  addressed  him  in  Norwegian,  and 
told  him  who  she  was,  he  greeted  her  with  the  utmost  de- 
ference and  humility. 

"  The  daughter  of  Jarl  Giildmar,"  he  said,  continuing:  to 
speak  in  his  own  tongue, "  honors  my  house  by  entering 
it!" 

Thelma  smiled  a  little.  "  The  days  of  the  great  Jarls 
are  past,  Friedhof,"  she  replied  somewhat  sadly,  "  and  my 
father  is  content  to  be  what  he  is, — a  simple  bonded 

Friedhof  shook  his  head  quite  obstinately.  "  A  Jarl  is 
always  a  Jarl,"  he  declared.  "  Nothing  can  alter  a  man's 
birth  and  nature.  And  the  last  time  I  saw  Valdemar 
Svensen, — he  who  lives  with  your  father  now, — he  was  care- 
ful always  to  speak  of  the  Jar/,  and  seldom  or  never  did  he 
mention  him  in  any  other  fashion.  And  now,  noble  Froken, 
in  what  manner  can  I  serve  you  ?  " 

Thelma  told  him  briefly  that  she  was  going  to  see  her 
father  on  business,  and  that  she  was  desirous  of  starting  for 
Norway  the  next  day  as  early  as  possible. 

Friedhof  held  up  his  hands  in  amazement.  "  Ah !  most 
surely  you  forget,"  he  exclaimed,  using  the  picturesque  ex- 
pressions of  his  native  speech,  "  that  this  is  the  sleeping 
time  of  the  suu  !  Even  at  the  Hardanger  Fjord  it  is  dark 
and  silent, — the  falling  streams  freeze  with  cold  on  their 
way  ;  and  if  it  is  so  at  the  Hardauger,  what  will  it  be  at 


TBE  LAND  OF  MOCZERY.  &9 

the  Alten  ?  And  there  is  no  passenger  ship  going  to  Chris- 
tiania  or  Bergen  for  a  fortnight !  " 

Thelma  clasped  her  hands  in  dismay.  "  But  I  must  go !  " 
she  cried  impatiently  ;  "  I  must,  indeed,  good  Friedhof !  I 
cannot  stay  here!  Surely,  surely  there  is  some  vessel  that 
would  take  me, — some  fishing  boat, — what  does  it  matter 
how  I  travel,  so  long  as  I  get  away  ?  " 

The  landlord  looked  at  her  rather  wonderingly.  "  Nay, 
if  it  is  indeed  so  urgent,  noble  Frb'ken,"  he  replied,  "  do  not 
trouble,  for  there  is  a  means  of  making  the  journey.  But 
for  you,  and  in  such  bitter  weather,  it  seems  a  cruelty  to 
speak  of  it.  A  steam  cargo-boat  leaves  here  for  Hammer- 
fest  and  the  North  Cape  to-morrow — it  will  pass  the  Alten- 
fjord.  No  doubt  you  could  go  with  that,  if  you  so  choose, 
— but  there  will  be  no  warmth  or  comfort,  and  there  are 
heavy  storms  on  the  North  Sea.  I  know  the  captain  ;  and 
'tis  true  he  takes  his  wife  with  him,  so  there  would  be  a 
woman  on  board, — yet " 

Thelma  interrupted  him.  She  pressed  two  sovereigns 
into  his  hand. 

"  Say  no  more,  Friedhof,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  You  will 
take  me  to  see  this  captain — you  will  tell  him  I  must  go 
with  him.  My  father  will  thank  you  for  this  kindness  to 
me,  even  better  than  I  can." 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  me  a  kindness  at  all,"  returned 
Friedhof  with  frank  bluntness.  "  I  would  be  loth  to  sail 
the  seas  myself  in  such  weather.  And  I  thought  you  were 
so  grandly  married,  Froken  Giildmar, — though  I  forget 
your  wedded  name, — how  comes  it  that  your  husband  is  not 
with  you  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  busy  in  London,"  answered  Thelma.  "  He 
knows  where  I  am  going.  Do  not  be  at  all  anxious,  Fried- 
hof,— I  shall  make  the  journey  very  well  and  I  am  not 
afraid  of  storm  or  wild  seas." 

Friedhof  still  looked  dubious,  but  finally  yielded  to  her 
entreaties  and  agreed  to  arrange  her  passage  for  her  in  the 
morning. 

She  stayed  at  his  hotel  that  night,  and  with  the  very 
early  dawn  accompanied  him  on  board  the  ship  he  had 
mentioned.  It  was  a  small,  awkwardly  built  craft,  with  an 
ugly  crooked  black  funnel  out  of  which  the  steam  was  hiss- 
ing and  spitting  with  quite  an  unnecessary  degree  of  vio- 
lence— the  decks  were  wet  and  dirty,  and  the  whole  vessel 
was  pervaded  with  a  sickening  smell  of  whale-oil.  The 


400  THELMA. 

captain,  a  gruff  red-faced  fellow,  looked  rather  surlily  at  his 
unexpected  passenger — but  was  soon  mollified  by  her 
gentle  manner,  and  the  readiness  with  which  she  paid  the 
money  he  demanded  for  taking  her. 

u  You  won't  be  very  warm,"  he  said,  eyeing  her  from 
head  to  foot — "  but  I  can  lend  you  a  rug  to  sleep  in." 

Thelma  smiled  and  thanked  him.  He  called  to  his  wife, 
a  thin,  overworked-looking  creature,  who  put  up  her  head 
from  a  window  in  the  cabin,  at  his  summons. 

"  Here's  a  lady  going  with  us,"  he  announced.  "  Look 
after  her,  will  you  ?  "  The  woman  nodded.  Then,  once 
more  addressing  himself  to  Thelma,  he  said,  "  We  shall 
have  nasty  weather  and  a  wicked  sea !  " 

"  I  do  not  mind !  "  she  answered  quietly,  and  turning  to 
Friedhof  who  had  come  to  see  her  off,  she  shook  hands 
with  him  warmly  and  thanked  him  for  the  trouble  he  had 
taken  in  her  behalf.  The  good  landlord  bade  her  farewell 
somewhat  reluctantly, — he  had  a  presentiment  that  there 
was  something  wrong  w  in  the  beautiful,  golden-haired 
daughter  of  the  Jarl — and  that  perhaps  he  ought  to  have 
prevented  her  making  this  uncomfortable  and  possibly  per- 
ilous voyage.  But  it  was  too  late  now, — and  at  a  little  be- 
fore seven  o'clock,  the  vessel, — which  rejoiced  iu  the  name 
of  the  Black  Polly, — left  the  harbor,  and  steamed  fussily 
down  the  H umber  in  the  teeth  of  a  sudden  storm  of  sleet 
and  snow. 

Her  departure  had  no  interest  for  any  one  save  Friedhof, 
who  stood  watching  her  till  she  was  no  more  than  a  speck 
on  the  turbid  water.  He  kept  his  post,  regardless  of  the 
piercing  cold  of  the  gusty,  early  morning  air,  till  she  had 
entirely  disappeared,  and  then  returned  to  his  own  house 
and  his  daily  business  in  a  rather  depressed  frame  of  mind. 
He  was  haunted  by  the  pale  face  and  serious  eyes  of 
Thelma — she  looked  very  ill,  he  thought.  He  began  to  re- 
proach himself, — why  had  he  been  such  a  fool  as  to  let  her 
go? — why  had  he  not  detained  her? — or  at  any  rate,  per- 
suaded her  to  rest  a  few  days  in  Hull  ?  He  looked  at  tue 
threatening  sky  and  the  falling  flakes  of  snow  with  a 
shiver. 

"What  weather!"  he  muttered,  "  and  there  must  be  a 
darkness  as  of  death  at  the  Altenfjord  !  " 

Meanwhile  the  Black  Polly — unhandsome  as  she  was  in 
appearance,  struggled  gallantly  with  and  overcame  an 
army  of  furious  waves  that  rose  to  greet  her  as  she  rounded 


THE  LAND  Of1  MOCKERY.  401 

Spurn  Head,  and  long  ere  Thelma  closed  her  weary  eyes  in 
an  effort  to  sleep,  was  plunging,  shivering,  and  fighting  her 
skAv  way  through  shattering  mountainous  billows  and  a 
tempest  of  sleet,  snow,  and  tossing  foam  across  the  wild 
North  Sea. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  What  of  her  glass  without  her  ?    The  blank  grey 
There,  where  the  pool  is  bliud  of  the  moon's  face — 
Her  dress  without  her  ?    The  tossed  empty  space 
Of  cloud-rack  whence  the  moon  has  passed  away  !  " 

DANTE  G.  KOSSETTI. 

"  GOOD  God!"  cried  Errington  impatiently.  "What's 
the  matter  ?  Speak  out !  " 

He  had  just  arrived  home.  He  had  barely  set  foot 
within  his  own  door,  and  full  of  lover-like  ardor  and  eager- 
ness was  about  to  hasten  to  his  wife's  room, — when  his  old 
servant  Morris  stood  in  his  way  trembling  and  pale-faced, 
— looking  helplessly  from  him  to  Neville, — who  was  as 
much  astonished  as  Sir  Philip,  at  the  man's  woe-begone 
appearance. 

"  Something  has  happened,"  he  stammered  faintly  at  last. 
"  Her  ladyship " 

Philip  started — his  heart  beat  quickly  and  then  seemed 
to  grow  still  with  a  horrible  sensation  of  fear. 

"  What  of  her  ?  "  he  demanded  in  low  hoarse  tones.  "  Is 
she  ill?" 

Morris  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Sir  Philip,  my  dear  master  !  "  cried  the  poor  old  man. 
"  I  do  not  know  whether  she  is  ill  or  well — I  cannot  guess  1 
My  lady  went  out  last  night  at  a  little  before  eight  o'clock, 
— and — and  she  has  never  come  home  at  all !  We  cannot 
tell  what  has  become  of  her  !  She  has  gone  !  " 

And  tears  of  distress  and  anxiety  filled  his  eyes.  Philip 
stood  mute.  He  could  not  understand  it.  All  color  fled 
from  his  face — he  seemed  as  though  he  had  received  a  sud- 
den blow  on  the  head  which  had  stunned  him. 

"  Gone !  "  he  said  mechanically.  "  Thelma — my  wife 
gone !  Why  should  she  go  ?  " 

And  he  stared  fixedly  at  Neville,  who  laid  one  hand 
soothingly  on  his  arm. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  with  friends,"  he  suggested,     "  She  may 
be  at  Lady  Winsleigh's  or  Mrs.  Loruner's." 
26 


402  T8ELMA. 

"  No,  no  1 "  interrupted  Morris.  "  Britta,  who  stayed  up 
all  night  for  her,  has  since  been  to  every  house  that  my 
lady  visits  and  no  one  has  seen  or  heard  of  her !  " 

"  Where  is  Britta  ?  "  demanded  Philip  suddenly. 

"  She  has  gone  again  to  Lady  Winsleigh's,"  answered 
Morris,  "  she  says  it  is  there  that  mischief  has  been  done, — 
I  don't  know  what  she  means  1 '' 

Philip  shook  off  his  secretaires  sympathetic  touch,  and 
strode  through  the  rooms  to  Thelma's  boudoir.  He  put 
aside  the  velvet  curtains  of  the  portiere  with  a  noiseless 
hand — somehow  he  felt  as  if,  in  spite  of  all  he  had  just 
heard,  she  must  be  there  as  usual  to  welcome  him  with  that 
serene  sweet  smile  which  was  the  sunshine  of  his  life.  The 
empty  desolate  air  of  the  room  smote  him  with  a  sense  of 
bitter  pain, — only  the  plaintive  warble  of  her  pet  thrush, 
who  was  singing  to  himself  most  mournfully  in  his  gilded 
cage,  broke  the  heavy  silence.  He  looked  about  him  va- 
cantly. All  sorts  of  dark  forebodings  crowded  on  his  mind, 
— she  must  have  met  with  some  accident,  he  thought  with  a 
shudder, — for  that  she  would  depart  from  him  in  this  sud- 
den way  of  her  own  accord  for  no  reason  whatsoever  seemed 
to  him  incredible — impossible. 

"  What  have  I  done  that  she  should  leave  me  ?  "  he  asked 
half  aloud  and  wonderingly.  Everything  that  had  seemed 
to  him  of  worth  a  few  hours  ago  became  valueless  in  this 
moment  of  time.  What  cared  he  now  for  the  business  of 
Parliament — for  distinction  or  honors  among  men  ?  Noth- 
ing— less  than  nothing  !  Without  her,  the  world  was  empty 
— its  ambitions,  tts  pride,  its  good,  its  evil,  seemed  but  the 
dreariest  and  most  foolish  trifles  ! 

"  Not  even  a  message  ?  "  he  thought.  "  No  hint  of  where 
she  meant  to  go — no  word  of  explanation  for  me  ?  Surely 
I  must  be  dreaming — my  Thelnia  would  never  have  de- 
serted me ! " 

A  sort  of  sob  rose  in  his  throat,  and  he  pressed  his  hand 
strongly  over  his  eyes  to  keep  down  the  womanish  drops 
that  threatened  to  overflow  them.  After  a  minute  or  two, 
he  went  to  her  desk  and  opened  it,  thinking  that  there  per- 
haps she  might  have  left  a  note  of  farewell.  There  was 
nothing — nothing  save  a  little  heap  of  money  and  jewels. 
These  Thelma  had  herself  placed,  before  her  sorrowful,  si- 
lent departure,  in  the  corner  where  he  now  found  them. 

More  puzzled  than  ever,  he  glanced  searchingly  round 
the  room — and  his  eyes  were  at  once  attracted  by  the 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKER?.  403 

sparkle  of  the  diamond  cross  that  lay  uppermost  on  the 
cover  of  "  Gladys  the  Singer,"  the  book  of  poems  which 
was  in  its  usual  place  on  his  own  reading  table.  In  another 
second  he  seized  it — he  unwound  the  slight  gold'chain — he 
opened  the  little  volume  tremblingly.  Yes  ! — there  was  a 
letter  within  its  pages  addressed  to  himself, — now,  now  he 
should  know  all !  He  tore  it  open  with  feverish  haste — two 
folded  sheets  of  paper  fell  out, — one  was  his  own  epistle  to 
Violet  Vere,  and  this,  to  his  consternation,  he  perceived 
first.  Full  of  a  sudden  misgiving  he  laid  it  aside,  and  be- 
gan to  read  Thelma's  parting  words. 

44  My  darling  boy,"  she  wrote — 

"  A  friend  of  yours  and  mine  brought  me  the  enclosed 
letter  and  though,  perhaps,  it  was  wrong  of  me  to  read  it,  I 
hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  having  done  so.  I  do  not  quite 
understand  it,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  think  about  it — but  it 
seems  that  you  are  tired  of  your  poor  Thelma  I  I  do  not 
blame  you,  dearest,  for  I  am  sure  that  in  some  wa}T  or  other 
the  fault  is  mine,  and  it  does  grieve  me  so  much  to  think 
you  are  unhappy !  I  know  that  I  am  very  ignorant  of 
many  things,  and  that  I  am  not  suited  to  this  London  life 
— and  I  fear  I  shall  never  understand  its  ways.  But  one 
thing  I  can  do,  and  that  is  to  let  you  be  free,  my  Philip — 
quite  free !  And  so  I  am  going  back  to  the  Altenfjord, 
where  I  will  stay  till  you  want  me  again,  if  you  ever  do. 
My  heart  is  yours  and  1  shall  always  love  you  till  I  die, — 
and  though  it  seems  to  me  just  now  better  that  we  should 
part,  to  give  you  greater  ease  and  pleasure,  still  you  must 
always  remember  that  I  have  no  reproaches  to  make  to 
you.  I  am  only  sorry  to  think  my  love  has  wearied  you, — 
for  you  have  been  all  goodness  and  tenderness  to  me.  And 
so  that  people  shall  not  talk  about  me  or  3rou,  3rou  will 
simply  say  to  them  that  I  have  gone  to  see  my  father,  and 
they  will  think  nothing  strange  in  that.  Be  kind  to  Britta, 
— I  have  told  her  nothing,  as  it  would  only  make  her  mis- 
erable. Do  not  be  angry  that  I  go  away — I  cannot  bear  to 
stay  here,  knowing  all.  And  so,  good-bye,  my  love,  my 
dearest  one  ! — if  you  were  to  love  many  women  more  than 
me,  I  still  should  love  you  best — I  still  would  gladly  die  to 
serve  you.  Remember  this  always, — that,  however  long  we 
may  be  parted,  and  though  all  the  world  should  come  be- 
tween us,  I  am,  and  ever  shall  be  your  faithful  wife, 

"  THELMA." 


404  THELMA. 

The  ejaculation  that  broke  from  Errington's  lips  as  he 
finished  reading  this  letter  was  more  powerful  than  rever- 
ent. Stinging  tears  darted  to  his  eyes  —  he  pressed  his  lips 
passionately  on  the  fair  writing. 

"  My  darling  —  my  darling  !  "  he  murmured.  "  What  a 
miserable  misunderstanding  1  " 

Then  without  another  moment's  delay  he  rushed  into 
Neville's  study  and  cried  abruptly  — 

"  Look  here  !     It's  all  your  fault." 

"  My  fault  !  "  gasped  the  amazed  secretary. 

"  Yes  —  your  fault  !  "shouted  Errington  almost  beside  him- 
self with  grief  and  rage.  "  Your  fault,  and  that  of  your 
accursed  wife,  Violet  Vere  !  " 

And  he  dashed  the  letter,  the  cause  of  all  the  mischief, 
furiously  down  on  the  table.  Neville  shrank  and  shivered, 
—  his  grey  head  drooped,  he  stretched  out  his  hands  appeal- 


"  For  God's  sake,  Sir  Philip,  tell  me  what  I've  done  ?  " 
he  exclaimed  piteously. 

Errington  strode  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  perfect  fever 
of  impatience. 

"  By  Heaven,  it's  enough  to  drive  me  mad  I  "  he  burst 
forth. 

"  Your  wife  !  —  your  wife  !  —  confound  her  !  When  you 
first  discovered  her  in  that  shameless  actress,  didn't  I  want 
to  tell  Thelma  all  about  it  —  that  very  night  ?  —  and  didn't 
you  beg  me  not  to  do  so  ?  Your  silly  scruples  stood  in  the 
wa}r  of  everything  !  I  was  a  fool  to  listen  to  you  —  a  fool  to 
meddle  in  your  affairs  —  and  —  and  I  wish  to  God  I'd  never 
seen  or  heard  of  you  !  " 

Neville  turned  very  white,  but  remained  speechless. 

"  Read  that  letter  !  "  went  on  Philip  impetuously. 
''  You've  seen  it  before  !  It's  the  last  one  I  wrote  to  your 
wife  imploring  her  to  see  you  and  speak  with  you.  Here  it 
comes,  the  devil  knows  how,  into  Thelma's  hands.  She's 
quite  in  the  dark  about  your  secret,  and  fancies  I  wrote  it 
on  my  own  behalf!  It  looks  like  it  too  —  looks  exactly  as 
if  I  were  pleading  for  myself  and  breaking  my  heart  over 
that  detestible  stage-fiend  —  by  Jove  !  it's  too  horrible  1  " 
And  he  gave  a  gesture  of  loathing  and  contempt. 

Neville  heard  him  in  utter  bewilderment.  "  Not  pos- 
sible !  "  he  muttered.  "  Not  possible  —  it  can't  be  !  " 

"  Can't  be  ?  It  is  !  "  shouted  Philip.  "  And  if  you'd  let 
me  tell  Thelma  everything  from  the  first,  all  this  wouldn't 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  405 

have  happened.  And  you  ask  me  what  you've  done  1 
Done !  You've  parted  me  from  the  sweetest,  dearest  girl 
in  the  world  !  " 

And  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hand  and  a  great  uncontrollable  sob  broke  from 
his  lips. 

Neville  was  in  despair.  Of  course,  it  was  his  fault — he 
saw  it  all  clearly.  He  painfully  recalled  all  that  had  hap- 
pened since  that  night  at  the  Brilliant  Theatre  when  with  a 
sickening  horror  he  had  discovered  Violet  Vere  to  be  no* 
other  than  Violet  Neville, — his  own  little  violet !  ...  as  he 
had  once  called  her — his  wife  that  he  had  lost  and  mourned 
as  though  she  were  some  pure  dead  woman  lying  sweetly 
at  rest  in  a  quiet  grave.  He  remembered  Thelma's  shud- 
dering repugnance  at  the  sight  of  her, — a  repugnance  which 
he  himself  had  shared — and  which  made  him  shrink  with 
fastidious  aversion,  from  the  idea  of  confiding  to  any  one 
but  Sir  Philip,  the  miserable  secret  of  his  connection  with 
her.  Sir  Philip  had  humored  him  in  this  fancy,  little 
imagining  that  any  mischief  would  come  of  it — and  the 
reward  of  his  kindly  sympathy  was  this, — his  name  was 
compromised,  his  home  desolate,  and  his  wife  enstranged 
from  him ! 

In  the  first  pangs  of  the  remorse  and  sorrow  that  filled 
his  heart,  Neville  could  gladly  have  gone  out  and  drowned 
himself.  Presently  he  began  to  think, — was  there  not  some 
one  else  beside  himself  who  might  possibly  be  to  blame  for 
all  this  misery  ?  For  instance,  who  could  have  brought  or 
sent  that  letter  to  Lady  Errington  ?  In  her  high  station, 
she,  so  lofty,  so  pure,  so  far  above  the  rest  of  her  sex, 
would  have  been  the  last  person  to  make  any  inquiries 
about  such  a  woman  as  Violet  Vere.  How  had  it  all  hap- 
pened ?  He  looked  imploringly  for  some  minutes  at  the  de- 
jected figure  in  the  chair  without  daring  to  offer  a  word  of 
consolation.  Presently  he  ventured  a  remark 

"  Sir  Philip  !  "  he  stammered.  "  It  will  soon  be  all  right, 
— her  ladyship  will  come  back  immediately.  I  myself  will 
explain — it's — it's  only  a  misunderstanding  .  .  ." 

Errington  moved  in  his  chair  impatiently,  but  said  nothing. 
Onty  a  misunderstanding  !  How  many  there  are  who  can 
trace  back  broken  friendships  and  severed  loves  to  that  one 
thing — "  only  a  misunderstanding  !  "  The  tenderest  re- 
lations are  often  the  most  delicate  and  subtle,  and  "  trifles 
light  as  air  "  may  scatter  and  utterly  destroy  the  sensitive 


406  THELMA. 

gossamer  threads  extending  between  one  heart  and  another, 
as  easily  as  a  child's  passing  foot  destroys  the  spider's  web 
woven  on  the  dewy  grass  in  the  early  mornings  of  spring. 

Presently  Sir  Philip  started  up — his  lashes  were  wet  and 
his  face  was  flushed. 

"  It's  no  good  sitting  here,"  he  said,  rapidly  buttoning 
on  his  overcoat.  "  I  must  go  after  her.  Let  all  the  busi- 
ness go  to  the  devil !  Write  and  say  I  won't  stand  for 
Middleborough — I  resign  in  favor  of  the  Liberal  candidate. 
I'm  off  to  Norway  to-night." 

"  To  Norway  !  "  cried  Neville.  "  Has  she  gone  there  f 
At  this  season " 

He  broke  off,  for  at  that  moment  Britta  entered,  looking 
the  picture  of  misery.  Her  face  was  pale  and  drawn — her 
eyelids  red  and  swollen,  and  when  she  saw  Sir  Philip,  she 
gave  him  a  glance  of  the  most  despairing  reproach  and  in- 
dignation. He  sprang  up  to  her. 

"  Any  news  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Britta  shook  her  head  mournfully,  the  tears  beginning  to 
roll  again  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  if  I'd  only  thought !  "  she  sobbed,  "  if  I'd  only 
known  what  the  dear  Froken  meant  to  do  when  she  said  good- 
bye to  me  last  night,  I  could  have  prevented  her  going — 
I  could — I  would  have  told  her  all  I  know — and  she  would 
have  stayed  to  see  you !  Oh,  Sir  Philip,  if  you  had  only 
been  here,  that  wicked,  wicked  Lady  Winsleigh  couldn't 
have  driven  her  away  1  " 

At  this  name  such  a  fury  filled  Philip's  heart  that  he 
could  barely  control  himself.  He  breathed  quickly  and 
heavily. 

"  What  of  her  ? "  he  demanded  in  a  low,  suffocated 
voice.  "  What  has  Lady  Winsleigh  to  do  with  it,  Britta  ?  " 

"  Everything !  "  cried  Britta,  though,  as  she  glanced  at 
his  set,  stern  face  and  paling  lips,  she  began  to  feel  a  little 
frightened.  "  She  has  always  hated  the  Froken,  and  been 
jealous  of  her — alwaj's !  Her  own  maid,  Louise,  will  tell 
you  so — Lord  Winsleigh's  man,  Briggs,  will  tell  3*011  so ! 
They've  listened  at  the  doors,  and  they  know  all  about  it !  " 
Britta  made  this  statement  with  the  most  childlike  candor. 
"  And  the}''ve  heard  all  sorts  of  wicked  things — Lady 
Winsleigh  was  always  talking  to  Sir  Francis  Lennox  about 
the  Froken, — and  now  they've  made  her  believe  you  do  not 
care  for  her  any  more — they've  been  trying  to  make  her 
believe  everything  bad  of  you  for  ever  so  many  months 


TEE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  407 

"  she  paused,  terrified  at  Sir  Philip's  increasing  pal« 

lor. 

"  Go  on,  Britta,"  he  said  quietly,  though  his  voice 
sounded  strange  to  himself.  Britta  gathered  up  all  her  re- 
maining stock  of  courage. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  !  "  she  continued  desperately,  "  I  don't 
understand  London  people  at  all,  and  I  never  shall  under- 
stand them.  Everybody  seems  to  want  to  be  wicked  1 
Briggs  says  that  Lady  Win  sleigh  was  fond  of  you,  Sir 
Philip, — then,  that  she  was  fond  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox, — 
and  yet  she  has  a  husband  of  her  own  all  the  time !  It  is 
so  very  strange !  "  And  the  little  maiden's  perplexity  ap- 
peared to  border  on  distraction.  "  They  would  think  such 
a  woman  quite  mad  in  Norway  !  But  what  is  worse  than 
anything  is  that  you — you,  Sir  Philip, — oh  1  I  won't  be- 
lieve it,"  and  she  stamped  her  foot  passionately,  "  I  can't 
believe  it !  ....  and  yet  everybody  says  that  you  go  to 
see  a  dreadful,  painted  dancing  woman  at  the  theatre,  and 
that  you  like  her  better  than  the  Froken, — it  isn't  true,  is 
it  ?  "  Here  she  peered  anxiously  at  her  master — but  he 
was  absolutely  silent.  Neville  made  as  though  he  would 
speak,  but  a  gesture  from  Sir  Philip's  hand  restrained  him. 
Britta  went  on  rather  dispiritedly,  "  Anyhow,  Briggs  has 
just  told  me  that  only  j^esterday  Lady  Winsleigh  went  all 
by  herself  to  see  this  actress,  and  that  she  got  some  letter 

there  which  she  brought  to  the  Froken "  she  recoiled 

suddenly  with  a  little  scream.  "  Oh,  Sir  Philip  ! — where 
are  you  going  ?  " 

Errington'.s  hand  came  down  on  her  shoulder,  as  he 
twisted  her  lightly  out  of  his  path  and  strode  to  the  door. 

"  Sir  Philip — Sir  Philip  !  "  cried  Neville  anxiously, 
hastening  after  him.  "  Think  for  a  moment ;  don't  do. 
anything  rash ! "  Philip  wrung  his  hand  convulsively. 
"  Rash  !  My  good  fellow,  it's  a  woman  who  has  slandered 
me- — what  can  I  do  ?  Her  sex  protects  her  1 "  He  gave  a 
short,  furious  laugh.  "  But —  by  God  ! — were  she  a  man 
I'd  shoot  her  dead  !  " 

And  with  these  words,  and  his  eyes  blazing  with  wrath, 
he  left  the  room.  Neville  and  Britta  confronted  each  other 
in  vague  alarm. 

"  Where  will  he  go  ?  "  half  whispered  Britta. 

"  To  Winsleigh  House,  I  suppose,"  answered  Neville  in 
the  same  low  tone. 


408  THELMA. 

Just  then  the  hall  door  shut  with  a  loud  bang^  that 
echoed  through  the  silent  house. 

"  He's  gone ! "  and  as  Neville  said  this  he  sighed  and 
looked  dubiously  at  his  companion.  "  How  do  you  know 
all  this  about  Lady  Winsleigh,  Britta?  It  may  not  be 
true — it's  only  servants'  gossip." 

"  Only  servants'  gossip  1 "  exclaimed  Britta.  "  And  is 
that  nothing?  Why,  in  these  grand  houses  like  Lord 
Winsleigh's,  the  servants  know  everything !  Briggs  makes 
it  his  business  to  listen  at  the  «.oors — he  say s  it's  a  part  of 
his  duty.  And  Louise  opens  all  her  mistress's  letters — she 
says  she  owes  it  to  her  own  respectability  to  know  what 
sort  of  a  lady  it  is  she  serves.  And  she's  going  to  leave, 
because  she  says  her  ladyship  isn't  respectable !  There  I 
what  do  you  think  of  that !  And  Sir  Philip  will  find  out 
a  great  deal  more  than  even  /  have  told  him — but  oh !  I 
can't  understand  about  that  actress !  "  And  she  shook  her 
head  despairingly. 

"  Britta,"  said  Neville  suddenly,  "  That  actress  is  my 
wife !  " 

Britta  started, — and  her  round  eyes  opened  wide. 
"  Your  wife,  Mr.  Neville  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 
Neville  took  off  his  spectacles  and  polished  them  nervously. 
"  Yes,  Britta— my  wife ! " 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazed  silence.  Neville  went  on 
rubbing  his  glasses,  and  continued  in  rather  dreamy,  trem- 
ulous accents — 

"  Yes — I  lost  her  years  ago — I  thought  she  was  dead. 
But  I  found  her — on  the  stage  of  the  Brilliant  Theatre. 
I — I  never  expected — that !  I  would  rather  she  had  died  !  " 
He  paused  and  went  on  softly,  "  When  I  married  her, 
Britta,  she  was  such  a  dear  little  girl, — so  bright  and 
pretty ! — and  I — I  fancied  she  was  fond  of  me  !  Yes,  I  did, 
— of  course,  I  was  foolish — I've  always  been  foolish,  I  think. 
And  when — when  I  saw  her  on  that  stage  I  felt  as  if  some 
one  had  struck  me  a  hard  blow — it  seems  as  if  I'd  been 
stunned  ever  since.  And  though  she  knows  I'm  in  London, 
she  won't  see  me,  Britta, — she  won't  let  me  speak  to  her 
even  for  a  moment  1  It's  very  hard !  Sir  Philip  has  tried 
his  best  to  persuade  her  to  see  me — he  has  talked  to  her 
and  written  to  her  about  me ;  and  that's  not  all, — he  has 
even  tried  to  make  her  come  back  to  me — but  it's  all  no 
use — and — and  that's  how  all  the  mischief  has  arisen — do 
you  see  ? " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  409 

Britta  gazed  at  him  still,  with  sympath}'  written  on  every 
line  of  her  face, — but  a  great  load  had  been  lifted  from  her 
mind  by  his  words — she  began  to  understand  everything. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Neville !  "  she  said.  "  But 
why  didn't  you  tell  all  this  to  the  Frdken  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't !  "  murmured  Neville  desperately.  "  She 
was  there  that  night  at  the  Brilliant, — and  if  you  had  seen 
how  she  looked  when  she  saw — my  wife — appeared  on  the 
stage !  So  pained,  so  sorry,  so  ashamed  !  and  she  wanted 
to  leave  the  theatre  at  once.  Of  course,  I  ought  to  have 
told  her, — I  wish  I  had — but — somehow,  I  never  could." 
He  paused  again.  "  It's  all  my  stupidity,  of  course,  Sir 
Philip  is  quite  blameless — he  has  been  the  kindest,  the  best 

of  friends  to  me "  his  voice  trembled  more  and  more, 

and  he  could  not  go  on.  There  was  a  silence  of  some  min- 
utes, during  which  Britta  appeared  absorbed  in  meditation, 
and  Neville  furtively  wiped  his  eyes. 

Presently  he  spoke  again  more  cheerfully.  "  It'll  soon  be 
all  right  again,  Britta !  "  and  he  nodded  encouragingly. 
"  Sir  Philip  says  her  ladyship  has  gone  home  to  Norway, 
and  he  means  to  follow  her  to-night." 

Britta  nodded  gravely,  but  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  And  I  posted  her  letter  to  her  father  !  "  she  half  mur- 
mured. "  Oh,  if  I  had  only  thought  or  guessed  why  it  was 
written ! " 

"  Isn't  it  rather  a  bad  time  of  the  year  for  Norway?" 
pursued  Neville.  "  Why,  there  must  be  snow  and  dark- 
ness  " 

"  Snow  and  darkness  at  the  Altenfjord  !  "  suddenly  cried 
Britta,  catching  at  his  words.  "  That's  exactly  what  she 
said  to  me  the  other  evening !  Oh  dear  !  I  never  thought 
of  it — I  never  remembered  it  was  the  dark  season  !  "  She 
clasped  her  hands  in  dismay.  "  There  is  no  sun  at  the 
Altenfjord  now — it  is  like  night — and  the  cold  is  bitter. 
And  she  is  not  strong — not  strong  enough  to  travel — and 
there's  the  North  Sea  to  cross — oh,  Mr.  Neville,"  and  she 
broke  out  sobbing  afresh.  "  The  journey  will  kill  her, — 
I  know  it  will  I  my  poor,  poor  darling  !  I  must  go  after 
her— I'll  go  with  Sir  Philip— I  won't  be  left  behind  !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  Britta  !  "  said  Neville  kindly,  patting  her 
shoulder.  "  Don't  cry — don't  cry  !  " 

But  he  was  very  near  crying  himself,  poor  man,  so 
shaken  was  he  by  the  events  of  the  morning.  And  he  could 
not  help  admitting  to  himself  the  possibility  that  so  long 


410  THELMA. 

and  trying  a  journey  for  Thelma  in  her  present  condition 
of  health  meant  little  else  than  serious  illness — perhaps 
death.  The  only  comfort  he  could  suggest  to  the  discon- 
solate Britta  was,  that  at  that  time  of  year  it  was  very 
probable  there  would  be  no  steamer  running  to  Christian 
sund  or  Bergen,  and  in  that  case  Thelma  would  be  unable 
to  leave  England,  and  would,  therefore,  be  overtaken  by  Sir 
Philip  at  Hull. 

Meanwhile,  Sir  Philip  himself,  in  a  white  heat  of  re- 
strained anger,  arrived  at  Winsleigh  House,  and  asked  to 
see  Lord  Winsleigh  immediately.  Briggs,  who  opened  the 
door  to  him,  was  a  little  startled  at  his  haggard  face  and 
blazing  eyes,  even  though  he  knew,  through  Britta,  all  about 
the  sorrow  that  had  befallen  him.  Briggs  was  not  sur- 
prised at  Lady  Errington's  departure, — that  portion  of  his 
"  duty  "  which  consisted  in  listening  at  doors,  had  greatly 
enlightened  him  on  many  points, — all,  save  one — the  re- 
ported connection  between  Sir  Philip  and  Violet  Yere.  This 
seemed  to  be  really  true  according  to  all  appearances. 

"  Which  it  puzzles  me,"  soliloquized  the  owner  of  the 
shapely  calves.  "  It  do,  indeed.  Yet  I  feels  very  much 
for  Sir  Philip, — I  said  to  Flopsie  this  morning — '  Flopsie,  I 
feels  for  'im  ! '  Yes, — I  used  them  very  words.  Only,  of 
course,  he  shouldn't  'ave  gone  with  Vi.  She's  a  fine  woman 
certainly — but  skittish — d — d  skittish !  I've  allus  made  it  a 
rule  myself  to  avoid  'er  on  principle.  Lor!  if  I'd  kep' 
company  with  'er  and  the  likes  of  'er  I  shouldn't  be  the 
man  I  am !  "  And  he  smiled  complacently. 

Lord  Winsleigh,  who  was  in  his  library  as  usual,  occu- 
pied with  his  duties  as  tutor  to  his  son  Ernest,  rose  to  re- 
ceive Sir  Philip  with  an  air  of  more  than  his  usual  gravity. 

"  I  was  about  to  write  to  you,  Errington,"  he  began,  and 
then  stopped  short,  touched  by  the  utter  misery  expressed 
in  Philip's  face.  He  addressed  Ernest  with  a  sort  of  nerv- 
ous haste. 

"  Run  awaj7,  my  boy,  to  your  own  room.  I'll  send  for 
you  again  presently." 

Ernest  obeyed.  "  Now,"  said  Lord  Winsleigh,  as  soon 
as  the  lad  disappeared,  "  tell  me  everything,  Errington. 
Is  it  true  that  your  wife  has  left  you  ?  " 

"  Left  me ! "  and  Philip's  eyes  flashed  with  passionate 
anger.  "  No  Winsleigh  ! — she's  been  driven  away  from  me 
by  the  vilest  and  most  heartless  cruelty.  She's  been  made 
to  believe  a  scandalous  and  abominable  lie  against  me — and 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  411 

she's  gone  I  I — I — by  Jove !  I  hardly  like  to  say  it  to 
your  face — but " 

"  I  understand ! "  a  curious  flicker  of  a  smile  shadowed 
rather  than  brightened  Lord  Winsleigh's  stern  features. 
"  Pray  speak  quite  plainly  !  Lady  Winsleigh  is  to  blame  ? 
I  am  not  at  all  surprised  1 " 

Errington  gave  him  a  rapid  glance  of  wonder.  He  had 
always  fancied  Winsleigh  to  be  a  studious,  rather  dull  sort 
of  man,  absorbed  in  books  and  the  education  of  his  son, — a 
man,  more  than  half  blind  to  everything  that  went  on 
around  him — and,  moreover,  one  who  deliberately  shut  his 
eyes  to  the  frivolous  coquetry  of  his  wife, — and  though  he 
liked  him  fairly  well,  there  had  been  a  sort  of  vague  con- 
tempt mingled  with  his  liking.  Now  a  new  light  was  sud- 
denly thrown  on  his  character — there  was  something  in  his 
look,  his  manner,  his  very  tone  of  voice, — which  proved  to 
Errington  that  there  was  a  deep  and  forcible  side  to  his  na- 
ture of  which  his  closest  friends  had  never  dreamed — and 
he  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  discovery.  Seeing 
that  he  still  hesitated,  Winsleigh  laid  a  hand  encouragingly 
on  his  shoulder  and  said — 

"  I  repeat — I'm  not  at  all  surprised  !  Nothing  that  Lady 
Winsleigh  might  do  would  cause  me  the  slightest  astonish- 
ment. She  has  long  ceased  to  be  my  wife,  except  in  name, 
— that  she  still  bears  that  name  and  holds  the  position  she 
has  in  the  world  is  simply — for  my  son's  sake  !  I  do  not 
wish," — his  voice  quivered  slightly — "  I  do  not  wish  the 
boy  to  despise  his  mother.  It's  always  a  bad  beginning  for 
a  young  man's  life.  I  want  to  avoid  it  for  Ernest,  if  pos- 
sible,— regardless  of  any  personal  sacrifice."  He  paused  a 
moment — then  resumed.  "  Now,  speak  out,  Errington, 
and  plainly, — for  if  mischief  has  been  done  and  I  can  repair 
it  in  any  way,  you  may  be  sure  I  will." 

Thus  persuaded,  Sir  Philip  briefly  related  the  whole 
story  of  the  misunderstanding  that  had  arisen  concerning 
Neville's  wife,  Violet  Vere. — and  concluded  by  saying — 

"  It  is,  of  course,  only  through  Britta  that  I've  just 
heard  about  Lady  Winsleigh's  having  anything  to  do  with 
it.  Her  information  may  not  be  correct — I  hope  it  isn't, — 
but " 

Lord  Winsleigh  interrupted  him.  "  Come  with  me,"  he 
said  composedly.  "  We'll  resolve  this  difficulty  at  once." 

He  led  the  way  out  of  the  library  across  the  hall.  Er- 
rington followed  him  in  silence.  He  knocked  at  the  door 


412  THELMA. 

of  his  wife's  room, — in  response  to  her  "  Come  in  1  "  they 
both  entered.  She  was  alone,  reclining  on  a  sofa,  reading, 
— she  started  up  with  a  pettish  exclamation  at  sight  of  her 
husband,  but  observing  who  it  was  that  came  with  him,  she 
stood  mute,  the  color  rushing  to  her  cheeks  with  surprise 
and  something  of  fear.  Yet  she  endeavored  to  smile,  and 
returned  with  her  usual  grace  their  somewhat  formal  salu- 
tations. 

"  Clara,"  then  said  Lord  Winsleigh  gravely,  "  I  have  to 
ask  you  a  question  on  behalf  of  Sir  Philip  Errington  here, 
— a  question  to  which  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  give  the 
plain  answer.  Did  you  or  did  3-011  not  procure  this  letter 
from  Violet  Vere,  of  the  Brilliant  Theatre — and  did  you  or 
did  you  not,  give  it  yourself  yesterday  into  the  hands  of 
Lady  Brtice-Errington  ?  "  And  he  laid  the  letter  in  ques- 
tion, which  Philip  had  handed  to  him,  down  upon  the  table 
before  her. 

She  looked  at  it — then  at  him — then  from  him  to  Sir 
Philip,  who  uttered  no  word — and  lightly  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  she  said, 
carelessly. 

Sir  Philip  turned  upon  her  indignantly. 

"  Lady  Winsleigh,  you  do  know " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  stately  gesture. 

"  Excuse  me,  Sir  Philip !  I  am  not  accustomed  to  be 
spoken  to  in  this  extraordinary  manner.  You  forget  your- 
self— my  husband,  I  think,  also  forgets  himself!  I  know 
nothing  whatever  about  Violet  Vere — I  am  not  fond  of  the 
society  of  actresses.  Of  course,  I've  heard  about  your  ad- 
miration for  her — that  is  common  town-talk, — though  my 
informant  on  this  point  was  Sir  Francis  Lennox." 

"  Sir  Francis  Lennox  !  "  cried  Philip  furiously.  "  Thank 
God  1  there's  a  man  to  deal  with !  By  Heaven,  I'll  choke 
him  with  his  own  lie  !  " 

Lady  Winsleigh  raised  her  eyebrows  in  well-bred  sur- 
prise. 

"Dear  mel  It  is  a  lie,  then?  Now,  I  should  have 
thought  from  all  accounts  that  it  was  so  very  likely  to  be 
true ! " 

Philip  turned  white  with  passion.  Her  sarcastic  smile, — 
her  mocking  glance, — irritated  him  almost  beyond  endurance, 

"  Permit  me  to  ask  you,  Clara,"  continued  Lord  Win- 
sleigh calmly,  "  if  you, — as  you  say,  know  nothing  about 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  4J3 

Violet  Vere,  why  did  you  go  to  the  Brilliant  Theatre  yes- 
terday morning  ?  " 

She  flashed  an  angry  glance  at  him. 

"  Why  ?  To  secure  a  box  for  the  new  performance.  Is 
there  anything  wonderful  in  that  ?  " 

Her  husband  remained  unmoved.  "  May  I  see  the 
voucher  for  this  box  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I've  sent  it  to  some  friends,"  replied  her  ladyship 
haughtily.  "  Since  when  have  you  decided  to  become  an 
inquisitor,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Lady  Winsleigh,"  said  Philip  suddenly  and  eagerly, 
"  will  you  swear  to  me  that  you  have  said  or  done  nothing 
to  make  my  Thelma  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  has  left  you,  has  she  ?  "  and  Lady  Clara  smiled 
maliciously.  "  I  thought  she  would  !  Why  don't  you  ask 
your  dear  friend,  George  Lorimer,  about  her  ?  He  is  madly 
in  love  with  her,  as  everybody  knows, — she  is  probably  the 
same  with  him  !  " 

"  Clara,  Clara  !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Winsleigh  in  accents  of 
deep  reproach.  "  Shame  on  you  !  Shame  !  " 

Her  ladyship  laughed  amusedly.  "  Please  don't  be 
tragic  !  "  she  said  ;  "  it's  too  ridiculous  !  Sir  Philip  has 
only  himself  to  blame.  Of  course,  Thelma  knows  about  his 
frequent  visits  to  the  Brilliant  Theatre.  I  told  her  all  that 
Sir  Francis  said.  Why  should  she  be  kept  in  the  dark  ? 
I  dare  say  she  doesn't  mind — she's  very  fond  of  Mr.  Lor- 
imer 1  " 

Errington  felt  as  though  he  must  choke  with  fury.  He 
forgot  the  presence  of  Lord  Winsleigh — he  forgot  every- 
thing but  his  just  indignation. 

"  My  God !  "  he  cried  passionately.  "  You  dare  to  speak 
so  ! — you !  " 

"  Yes  I !  "  she  returned  coolly,  measuring  him  with  a 
glance.  "  I  dare  !  What  have  you  to  say  against  me  f  " 
She  drew  herself  up  imperiously. 

Then  turning  to  her  husband,  she  said,  "  Have  the  good- 
ness to  take  your  excited  friend  away,  my  lord  !  I  am  going 
out — I  have  a  great  many  engagements  this  morning — and 
I  really  cannot  stop  to  discuss  this  absurd  affair  any  longer  ! 
It  isn't  my  fault  that  Sir  Philip's  excessive  admiration  for 
Miss  Vere  has  become  the  subject  of  gossip — /don't  blame 
him  for  it !  He  seems  extremely  ill-tempered  about  it ;  after 
all, '  ce  n'est  que  la  verite  qui  blesse  !  '  " 

And  she  smiled  maliciously. 


414 


CHAPTER  XX Yin. 

"  For  my  mother's  sake, 
For  thine  and  hers,  O  Love  !  I  pity  take 
On  all  poor  women.     Jesu's  will  be  done, 
Honor  for  all,  and  infamy  for  none, 

This  side  the  borders  of  th<  burning  lake." 

ERIC  MACKAY'S  Love-Letters  of  a  Violinist. 

LORD  WINSLEIGH  did  not  move.  Sir  Philip  fixed  his  eyes 
npon  her  in  silence.  Some  occult  fascination  forced  her  to 
meet  his  glance,  and  the  utter  scorn  of  it  stung  her  proud 
heart  to  its  centre.  Not  that  she  felt  mu:h  compunction — 
her  whole  soul  was  up  in  arms  against  him,  and  had  been 
so  from  the  very  day  she  was  first  told  of  his  unexpected 
marriage.  His  evident  contempt  now  irritated  her — she 
was  angrier  with  him  than  ever,  and  yet — she  had  a  sort  of 
strange  triumph  in  the  petty  vengeance  she  had  designed — 
she  had  destroyed  his  happiness  for  a  time,  at  least.  If 
she  could  but  shake  his  belief  in  his  wife  !  she  thought,  vin- 
dictively. To  that  end  she  had  thrown  out  her  evil  hint 
respecting  Thelma's  affection  for  George  Lorimer,  but  the 
shaft  had  been  aimed  uselessly.  Errington  knew  too  well 
the  stainless  purity  of  Thelma  to  wrong  her  by  the  smallest 
doubt,  and  he  would  have  staked  his  life  on  the  loyalty  of 
his  friend.  Presently  he  controlled  his  anger  sufficiently  to 
be  able  to  speak,  and  still  eyeing  her  with  that  straight, 
keen  look  of  immeasurable  disdain,  he  said  in  cold,  deliber- 
ate accents — 

"  Your  ladyship  is  in  error, — the  actress  in  question  is 
the  wife  of  my  secretary,  Mr.  Neville.  For  years  they  have 
been  estranged — my  visits  to  her  were  entirely  on  Neville's 
behalf — my  letters  to  her  were  all  on  the  same  subject.  Sir 
Francis  Lennox  must  have  known  the  truth  all  along, — 
Violet  Vere  has  been  his  mistress  for  the  past  five  years  ! " 

He  uttered  the  concluding  words  with  intense  bitterness. 
A  strange,  bewildered  horror  passed  over  Lady  Winsleigh's 
face. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  said  rather  faintly. 

"  Believe  it  or  not,  it  is  true  !  "  he  replied  curtly.  u  Ask 
the  manager  of  the  Brilliant,  if  you  doubt  me, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  415 

it's  no  use  my  stopping  here  any  longer.  As  her  ladyship 
refuses  to  give  any  explanation — 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Errington,"  interposed  Lord  Winsleigh 
in  his  coldest  and  most  methodical  manner.  "  Her  ladyship 
refuses — but  /  do  not  refuse !  Her  ladyship  will  not  speak 
—she  allows  her  husband  to  speak  for  her.  Therefore," 
and  he  smiled  at  his  astonished  wife  somewhat  sardonically, 
"  I  may  tell  you  at  once,  that  her  ladyship  admits  to 
having  purchased  from  Violet  Vere  for  the  sum  of  £20. 
the  letter  which  she  afterwards  took  with  her  own  hands 
to  your  wife."  Lady  Winsleigh  uttered  an  angry  excla- 
mation. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  Clara,  if  }rou  please,"  he  said,  with 
an  icy  smile.  "  We  have  so  many  sympathies  in  common 
that  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  able  to  explain  your  unspoken 
meanings  quite  clearly."  He  went  on,  addressing  himself 
to  Errington,  who  stood  utterly  amazed. 

"  Her  ladyship  desires  me  to  assure  you  that  her  only 
excuse  for  her  action  in  this  matter  is,  that  she  fully  be- 
lieved the  reports  her  friend,  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  gave  her 
concerning  your  supposed  intimacy  with  the  actress  in 
question, — and  that,  believing  it,  she  made  use  of  it  as 
much  as  possible  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  your  wife's 
peace  of  mind  and  confidence  in  you.  Her  object  was  most 
purely  feminine — love  of  mischief,  and  the  gratification  of 
private  spite  !  There's  nothing  like  frankness !  "  and  Lord 
Winsleigh's  face  was  a  positive  studjr  as  he  spoke.  "  You 
see," — he  made  a  slight  gesture  towards  his  wife,  who  stood 
speechless,  and  so  pale  that  her  very  lips  were  colorless — 
"  her  ladyship  is  not  in  a  position  to  den}7  what  I  have  said. 
Excuse  her  silence !  " 

And  again  he  smiled — that  smile  as  glitteringly  chilled 
as  a  gleam  of  light  on  the  edge  of  a  sword.  Lady  Wins- 
leigh raised  her  head,  and  her  eyes  met  his  with  a  dark  ex- 
pression of  the  uttermost  anger.  "  Spy  !  "  she  hissed  be- 
tween her  teeth, — then  without  further  word  or  gesture, 
she  swept  haughtily  away  into  her  dressing-room,  which 
adjoined  the  boudoir,  and  closed  the  door  of  communication, 
thus  leaving  the  two  men  alone  together. 

Errington  felt  himself  to  be  in  a  most  painful  and  awk- 
ward position.  If  there  was  anything  he  more  than  dis- 
liked, it  was  a  scene — particularly  of  a  domestic  nature. 
And  he  had  just  had  a  glimpse  into  Lord  and  Lady  Wins- 
leigh's married  life,  which,  to  him,  was  decidedly  unpleas- 


416  THELMA. 

ant.  He  could  not  understand  how  Lord  Winsleigh  had 
become  cognizant  of  all  he  had  so  frankly  stated — and 
then,  why  had  he  not  told  him  everything  at  first,  without 
waiting  to  declare  it  in  his  wife's  presence  ?  Unless,  indeed, 
he  wished  to  shame  her  ?  There  was  evidently  something 
in  the  man's  disposition  and  character  that  he,  Philip, 
could  not  as  yet  comprehend, — something  that  certainly 
puzzled  him,  and  filled  him  with  vague  uneasiness. 

"  Winsleigh,  I'm  awfully  sorry  this  has  happened,"  he 
began  hurriedly,  holding  out  his  hand. 

Lord  Winsleigh  grasped  it  cordially.  "  My  dear  fellow, 
so  am  1 1  Heartily  sorry  I  I  have  to  be  sorry  for  a  good 
many  things  rather  often.  But  I'm  specially  grieved  to 
think  that  your  beautiful  and  innocent  young  wife  is  the 
victim  in  this  case.  Unfortunately  I  was  told  nothing  till 
this  morning,  otherwise  I  might  possibly  have  prevented 
all  your  unhappiness.  But  I  trust  it  won't  be  of  long 
duration.  Here's  this  letter,"  he  returned  it  as  he  spoke, 
"  which  in  more  than  one  way  has  cost  so  large  a  price. 
Possibty  her  ladyship  may  now  regret  her  ill-gotten  pur- 
chase." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Errington  curiously,  "  but  how  did 
you  know " 

"  The  information  was  pressed  upon  me  very  much,"  re- 
plied Lord  Winsleigh  evasively,  "  and  from  such  a  source 
that  up  to  the  last  moment  I  almost  refused  to  believe  it." 
He  paused,  and  then  went  on  with  a  forced  smile,  "  Suppose 
we  don't  talk  any  more  about  it,  Errington  ?  The  subject's 
rather  painful  to  me.  Only  allow  me  to  ask  your  pardon 
for  my  wife's  share  in  the  mischief!  " 

Something  in  his  manner  of  speaking  affected  Sir  Philip. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Winsleigh,"  he  exclaimed  with  sudden 
fervor,  "  I  fancy  you're  a  man  greatly  wronged  1 '' 

Lord  Winsleigh  smiled  slightly.  "  You  only  fancy  ?  " 
he  said  quietly.  "  Well, — my  good  friend,  we  all  have  our 
troubles — I  dare  say  mine  are  no  greater  than  those  of 
many  better  men."  He  stopped  short,  then  asked  abruptly, 
"  I  suppose  you'll  see  Lennox  ?  " 

Errington  set  his  teeth  hard.  "  I  shall, — at  once !  "  he 
replied.  "  And  I  shall  probably  thrash  him  within  an  inch 
of  his  life !  " 

"  That's  right !  I  shan't  be  sorry  !  "  and  Lord  Wins- 
leigh's  hand  clenched  almost  unconsciously.  "  I  hope  you 
understand,  Errington,  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  son,  I 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  417 

should  have  shot  that  fellow  long  ago.  I  dare  say  you 
wonder, — and  some  others  too, — why  I  haven  t  done  it. 
But  Ernest — poor  little  chap  I  ....  he  would  have  heard 
of  it, — and  the  reason  of  it, — his  3"oung  life  is  involved  in 
mine — why  should  I  bequeath  him  a  dishonored  mother's 
name  ?  There — for  heaven's  sake,  don't  let  me  make  a  fool 
of  myself  I"  and  he  fiercely  dashed  his  hand  across  his 
eyes.  "  A  duel  or  a  divorce — or  a  horsewhipping — they 
all  come  to  pretty  much  the  same  thing — all  involve  public 
scandal  for  the  name  of  the  woman  who  may  be  unhap- 
pily concerned — and  scandal  clings,  like  the  stain  on 
Lady  Macbeth's  hand.  In  your  case  yon  can  act — your 
wife  is  above  a  shadow  of  suspicion — but  I — oh,  my  God! 
how  much  women  have  to  answer  for  in  the  miseries  of  this 
world !  " 

Errington  said  nothing.  Pity  and  respect  for  the  man 
before  him  held  him  silent.  Here  was  one  of  the  martyrs 
of  modern  social  life — a  man  who  evidently  knew  himself  to 
be  dishonored  by  his  wife, — and  who  yet,  for  the  sake  of  his 
son,  submitted  to  be  daily  broken  on  the  wheel  of  private 
torture  rather  than  let  the  boy  grow  up  to  despise  and  slight 
his  mother.  Whether  he  were  judged  as  wise  or  weak  in 
his  behavior  there  was  surely  something  noble  about  him — 
something  unselfish  and  heroic  that  deserved  recognition. 
Presently  Lord  Winsleigh  continued  in  calmer  tones — 

u  I've  been  talking  too  much  about  myself,  Errington,  I 
fear — forgive  it !  Sometimes  I've  thought  you  misunder- 
stood me " 

"  I  never  shall  again !  "  declared  Philip  earnestly. 

Lord  Winsleigh  met  his  look  of  sympathy  with  one  of 
gratitude. 

"Thanks!"  he  said  briefly, — and  with  this  they  shook 
hands  again  heartily,  and  parted.  Lord  Winsleigh  saw  his 
visitor  to  the  door — and  then  at  once  returned  to  his  wife's 
apartments.  She  was  still  absent  from  the  boudoir — he 
therefore  entered  her  dressing-room  without  ceremony. 

There  he  found  her, — alone,  kneeling  on  the  floor,  her 
head  buried  in  an  arm-chair, — and  her  whole  frame  shaken 
with  convulsive  sobs.  He  looked  down  upon  her  with  a 
strange  wistful  pain  in  his  eyes, — pain  mingled  with  com- 
passion. 

"  Clara  !  "  he  said  gently.  She  started  and  sprang  up — 
confronting  him  with  flushed  cheeks  and  wet  eyes. 

"  You  here  ? "  she  exclaimed,  angrily,      "  J  wonder 
37 


418  THELMA. 

dare  to "  she  broke  off,  confused  by  his  keen,  direct 

glance. 

"  It  is  a  matter  for  wonder,"  he  said  quietly.  "  It's  tha 
strangest  thing  in  the  world  that  I — your  husband — should 
venture  to  intrude  myself  into  your  presence  1  Nothing 
could  be  more  out  of  the  common.  But  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you — something  which  must  be  said  sooner  or 
later — and  I  may  as  well  speak  now." 

He  paused, — she  was  silent,  looking  at  him  in  a  sort  cf 
sudden  fear. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  continued  in  the  same  even  tones.  "  You 
must  have  a  little  patience  with  me — I'll  endeavor  to  be  as 
brief  as  possible." 

Mechanically  she  obeyed  him  and  sank  into  a  low  fauteuil. 
She  began  playing  with  the  trinkets  on  her  silver  chat- 
elaine, and  endeavored  to  feign  the  most  absolute  unconcern, 
but  her  heart  beat  quickly — she  could  not  imagine  what 
was  coming  next — her  husband's  manner  and  tone  were 
quite  new  to  her. 

"  You  accused  me  just  now,"  he  went  on,  "  of  being  a 
spy.  I  have  never  condescended  to  act  such  a  part  toward 
you,  Clara.  When  I  first  married  you  I  trusted  }'ou  with 
my  life,  my  honor,  and  my  name,  and  though  you  have  be- 
trayed all  three  " — she  moved  restlessly  as  bis  calm  gaze 
remained  fixed  on  her — "  I  repeat, — though  you  have  be- 
trayed all  three, — I  have  deliberately  shut  my  eyes  to  the 
ruin  of  n^  hopes,  in  a  loyal  endeavor  to  shield  you  from 
the  world's  calumny.  Regarding  the  unhappiness  you 
have  caused  the  Erringtons, — j^our  own  maid  Louise  Rcnaud 
(who  has  given  you  notice  of  her  intention  to  leave  you) 
told  me  all  she  knew  of  your  share  in  what  I  may  call  pos- 
itive cruelty,  towards  a  happy  and  innocent  woman  who 
has  never  injured  you,  and  whose  friend  you  declared  your- 
self to  be " 

"  You  believe  the  lies  of  a  servant  ?  "  suddenly  cried  Lady 
Winsleigh  wrathfully. 

"  Have  not  you  believed  the  lies  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox, 
who  is  leis  honest  than  a  servant  ?  "  asked  her  husband,  his 
grave  voice  deepening  with  a  thrill  of  passion.  "  And 
haven't  yon  reported  them  everywhere  as  truths?  But  as 
regards  your  maid — I  doubted  her  story  altogether.  She 
assured  me  she  knew  what  money  you  took  out  with  you 
yesterda}',  and  what  you  returned  with — and  as  the  only 
place  you  visited  in  the  morning  was  the  Brilliant  Theatre, 


TEE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  419 

— after  having  received  a  telegram  from  Lennox,  which  she 
saw, — it  was  easy  for  her  to  put  two  and  two  together, 
especially  as  she  noticed  you  reading  the  letter  you  had 
purchased — moreover  " — he  paused — "  she  has  heard  cer- 
tain conversations  between  you  and  Sir  Francis,  notably 
one  that  took  place  at  the  garden-party  in  the  summer  at  Er- 
rington  Manor.  Spy  ?  you  say  ?  your  detective  has  been 
paid  by  you, — fed  and  kept  about  your  own  person, — to 
minister  to  your  vanity  and  to  flatter  your  pride — that  she 
has  turned  informer  against  you  is  not  surprising.  Be 
thankful  that  her  information  has  fallen  into  no  more  ma- 
lignant hands  than  mine  !  " 

Again  he  paused — she  was  still  silent — but  her  lips 
trembled  nervously. 

"  And  3' et  I  was  loth  to  believe  eveiything  " — he  re- 
sumed half  sadly — "  till  Errington  came  and  showed  me 
that  letter  and  told  me  the  whole  story  of  his  misery. 
Even  then  I  thought  I  would  give  you  one  more  chance — 
that's  why  I  brought  him  to  you  and  asked  you  the  ques- 
tion before  him.  One  look  at  your  face  told  me  you  were 
guilty,  though  you  denied  it.  I  should  have  been  better 
pleased  had  you  confessed  it  1  But  why  talk  about  it  any 
longer  ? — the  mischief  is  done — I  trust  it  is  not  irrepar- 
able. I  certainly  consider  that  before  troubling  that  poor 
girl's  happiness, — you  should  have  taken  the  precaution  to 
inquire  a  little  further  into  the  truth  of  the  reports  you 
heard  from  Sir  Francis  Lennox, — he  is  not  a  reliable 
authority  on  any  question  whatsoever.  You  may  have 

thought  him  so "  he  stopped  short  and  regarded  her 

with  sorrowful  sternness — "  I  say,  Clara,  you  may  have 
thought  him  so,  once — but  now  ?  Are  you  proud  to  have 
shared  his  affections  with — Violet  Vere  ?  " 

She  uttered  a  sharp  cry  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands, — an  action  which  appeared  to  smite  her  husband  to 
the  heart, — for  his  voice  trembled  with  deep  feeling  when 
he  next  spoke. 

"  Ah,  best  hide  it,  Clara  !  "  he  said  passionately.  "  Hide 
that  fair  face  I  loved  so  well — hide  those  eyes  in  which  I 
dreamed  of  finding  my  life's  sunshine !  Clara,  Clara  1 
What  can  I  say  to  you,  fallen  rose  of  womanhood?  How 

can  I "  he  suddenly  bent  over  her  as  though  to  caress 

her,  then  drew  back  with  a  quick  agonized  sigh.  "  You 
thought  me  blind,  Clara  I  .  ..."  he  went  on  in  low  tones, 
*'  blind  to  my  own  dishonor — blind  to  your  faithlessness  ;— » 


420  THELMA. 

I  tell  you  if  you  had  taken  my  heart  between  your  hands 
and  wrung  the  blood  out  of  it  drop  by  drop,  I  could  not 
have  suffered  more  than  I  have  done !  Why  have  I  been 
silent  so  long? — no  matter  why, — but  now,  now  Clara, — 
this  life  of  ours  must  end  !  " 

She  shuddered  away  from  him. 

"  End  it  then !  "  she  muttered  in  a  choked  voice.  "  You 
can  do  as  you  like, — you  can  divorce  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Wmshigh  musingly.  "  I  can  divorce 
you !  There  will  be  no  defense  possible, — as  you  know. 
If  witnesses  are  needed,  they  are  to  be  had  in  the  persons 
of  our  own  domestics.  The  co-respondent  in  the  case  will 
not  refute  the  charge  against  him, — and  I,  the  plaintiff, 
must  win  my  just  cause.  Do  you  realize  it  all,  Clara? 
You,  the  well-known  leader  of  a  large  social  circle — you, 
the  proud  beauty  and  envied  lady  of  rank  and  fashion, — 
you  will  be  made  a  subject  for  the  coarse  jests  of  lawyers, 
— the  very  judge  on  the  bench  will  probably  play  off  his 
stale  witticism  at  your  expense, — your  dearest  friends  will 
tear  your  name  to  shreds, — the  newspapers  will  reek  of 
your  doings, — and  honest  housemaids  reading  of  your  fall 
from  your  high  estate,  will  thank  God  that  their  souls  and 
bodies  are  more  chaste  than  yours  !  And  last — not  least, 
— think  when  old  age  creeps  on,  and  your  beauty  withers, 
— think  of  your  son  grown  to  manhood, — the  sole  heir  to 
my  name, — think  of  him  as  having  but  one  thing  to  blush 
for — the  memory  of  his  dishonored  mother  !  " 

"  Cruel — cruel !  "  she  cried,  endeavoring  to  check  her 
sobs,  and  withdrawing  her  hands  from  her  face.  "  Why  do 
you  say  such  things  to  me  ?  Why  did  you  marry  me  ? " 

He  caught  her  hands  and  held  them  in  a  fast  grip. 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  loved  you,  Clara — loved  you  with 
all  the  tenderness  of  a  strong  man's  heart !  When  I  first 
saw  you,  you  seemed  to  me  the  very  incarnation  of  maiden 
purity  and  loveliness  1  The  days  of  our  courtship — the 
first  few  months  of  our  marriage — what  they  were  to  you, 
I  know  not, — to  me  they  were  supreme  happiness.  When 
our  boy  was  born,  my  adoration,  my  reverence  for  you  in- 
creased— you  were  so  sacred  in  my  eyes,  that  I  could  have 
knelt  and  asked  a  benediction  from  these  little  hands  " — 
here  he  gently  loosened  them  from  his  clasp.  "  Then  came 
the  change — what  changed  you,  I  cannot  imagine — it  has 
always  seemed  to  me  unnatural,  monstrous,  incredible! 
There  was  no  falling  away  in  my  affection,  that  I  can 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  421 

swear !  My  curse  upon  the  man  who  turned  your  heart 
from  mine  !  So  rightful  and  deep  a  curse  is  it  that  I  feel 
it  must  some  day  strike  home." 

He  paused  and  seemed  to  reflect.  ''  Who  is  there  more 
vile,  more  traitorous  than  he  ?  "  he  went  on.  "  Has  he  not 
tried  to  influence  Errington's  wife  against  her  husband  ? 
For  what  base  purpose?  But  Clara, — he  is  powerless 
against  her  purity  and  innocence  ; — what,  in  the  name  of 
God,  gave  him  power  over  you  ?  " 

She  drooped  her  head,  and  the  hot  blood  rushed  to  her 
face. 

"You've  said  enough!"  she  murmured  sullenly.  "If 
you  have  decided  on  a  divorce,  pray  carry  out  your  inten- 
tion with  the  least  possible  dela}'.  I  cannot  talk  any  more! 
I— I  am  tired  !  " 

"  Clara,"  said  her  husband  solemnly,  with  a  strange  light 
in  his  eyes,  "  I  would  rather  kill  you  than  divorce  you  1 " 

There  was  something  so  terribly  earnest  in  his  tone  that 
her  heart  beat  fast  with  fear. 

"  Kill  me  ? — kill  me  ?  "  she  gasped,  with  white  lips. 

"  Yes  !  "  he  repeated,  "  kill  you, — as  a  Frenchman  or  an 
Italian  would, — and  take  the  consequences.  Yes — though 
an  Englishman,  I  would  rather  do  this  than  drag  your  frail 
poor  womanhood  through  the  mire  of  public  scandal !  I 
have,  perhaps,  a  strange  nature,  but  such  as  I  am,  I  am. 
There  are  too  many  of  our  high-born  families  already, 
flaunting  their  immorality  and  low  licentiousness  in  the  face 
of  the  mocking,  grinning  populace, — I  for  one  could  never 
make  up  my  mind  to  fling  the  honor  of  my  son's  mother  to 
them,  as  though  it  were  a  bone  for  dogs  to  fight  over.  No 
— I  have  another  proposition  to  make  to  you — 

He  stopped  short.  She  stared  at  him  wonderingly.  He 
resumed  in  methodical,  unmoved,  business-like  tones. 

"  I  propose,  Clara,  simply, — to  leave  you  !  I'll  take  the 
boy  and  absent  nv^self  from  this  country,  so  as  to  give  you 
perfect  freedom  and  save  you  all  trouble.  There'll  be  no 
possibility  of  scandal,  for  I  will  keep  you  cognizant  of  my 
movements, — and  should  you  require  my  presence  at  any 
time  for  the  sake  of  appearances, — or — to  shield  you  from 
calumny, — you  may  rely  on  my  returning  to  you  at  once, — 
without  delay.  Ernest  will  gain  many  advantages  by 
travel, — his  education  is  quite  a  sufficient  motive  for  my 
departure,  my  interest  in  his  3'oung  life  being  well  known 
to  all  our  circle.  Moreover,  with  me — under  my  surveil- 


422  THELMA. 

lance — he  need  never  know  anything  against — against  you. 
I  have  always  taught  him  to  honor  and  obey  you  in  his 
heart." 

Lord  Winsleigh  paused  a  moment — then  went  on,  some- 
what musingly  ; — "  When  he  was  quite  little,  he  used  to 
wonder  why  you  didn't  love  him, — it  was  hard  for  me  to 
hear  him  say  that,  sometimes.  But  I  always  told  him  that 
you  did  love  him — but  that  you  had  so  many  visits.to  make, 
and  so  many  friends  to  entertain,  that  you  had  no  time  to 
play  with  him.  I  don't  think  he  quite  understood, — but 
still— I  did  my  best  1 " 

He  was  silent.  She  had  hidden  her  face  again  in  her 
hands,  and  he  heard  a  sound  of  smothered  sobbing. 

"  I  think,"  he  continued  calmly,  "that  he  has  a  great 
reverence  for  you  in  his  young  heart — a  feeling  which  par- 
takes, perhaps,  more  of  fear  than  love — still  it  is  better 
than — disdain — or — or  disrespect.  I  shall  always  teach 
him  to  esteem  you  highly, — but  I  think,  as  matters  stand — 
if  I  relieve  you  of  all  your  responsibilities  to  husband  and 
son — you — Clara ! — pray  don't  distress  yourself — there's  no 
occasion  for  this — Clara " 

For  on  a  sudden  impulse  she  had  flung  herself  at  his  feet 
in  an  irrepressible  storm  of  passionate  weeping. 

"  Kill  me,  Harry  !  "  she  sobbed  wildly,  clinging  to  him. 
"  Kill  me  !  don't  speak  to  me  like  this  ! — don't  leave  me  ! 
Oh,  my  God  1  don't,  don't  despise  me  so  utterly  !  Hate 
me — curse  me — strike  me — do  an}rthing,  but  don't  leave  me 
as  if  I  were  some  low  thing,  unfit  for  your  touch, — I  know 
I  am,  but  oh,  Harry !  .  .  ."  She  clung  to  him  more 
closely.  "  If  you  leave  me  I  will  not  live, — I  cannot  1 
Have  you  no  pity  ?  Why  would  you  throw  me  back  alone 
— all,  all  alone,  to  die  of  your  contempt  and  my  shame  !  " 

And  she  bowed  her  head  in  an  agony  of  tears. 

He  looked  down  upon  her  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  Your  shame  !  "  he  murmured.     "  My  wife " 

Then  he  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  drew  her  with  a 
strange  hesitation  of  touch,  to  his  breast,  as  though  she 
were  some  sick  or  wounded  child,  and  watched  her  as  she 
lay  there  weeping,  her  face  hidden,  her  whole  frame  trem- 
bling in  his  embrace. 

"  Poor  soul !  "  he  whispered,  more  to  himself  than  to  her. 
"  Poor  frail  woman !  Hush,  hush,  Clara !  The  past  is 
past !  I'll  make  you  no  more  reproaches.  I — I  can't  hurt 
you,  because  I  once  so  loved  you — but  now — now, — what 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  423 

is  there  left  for  me  to  do,  but  to  leave  you  ?  You'll  be  hap- 
pier so — you'll  have  perfect  liberty — you  needn't  even  think 
of  me — unless,  perhaps,  as  one  dead  and  buried  long  ago 


She  raised  herself  in  his  arms  and  looked  at  him  pite. 
ously. 

"  Won't  you  give  me  a  chance  ?  "  she  sobbed.  "  Not 
one  ?  If  I  had  but  known  you  better — if  i  had  understood 
oh,  I've  been  vile,  wicked,  deceitful — but  I'm  not  happy, 
Harry — I've  never  been  happy  since  I  wronged  you  I 
Won't  you  give  me  one  little  hope  that  I  may  win  youi 
love  again, — no,  not  your  love,  but  your  pity  ?  Oh,  Harry, 
have  I  lost  all — all " 

Her  voice  broke — she  could  say  no  more. 

He  stroked  her  hair  gently.  "  You  speak  on  impulse  just 
now,  Clara,"  he  said  gravely  yet  tenderly.  "  You  can't 
know  your  own  strength  or  weakness.  God  forbid  that  / 
should  judge  you  harshly  !  As  you  wish  it,  I  will  not 
leave  you  yet.  I'll  wait.  Whether  we  part  or  remain  to- 
gether, shall  be  decided  by  }rour  own  actions,  your  own 
looks,  your  own  words.  You  understand,  Clara?  You 
know  my  feelings.  I'm  content  for  the  present  to  place  my 
fate  in  your  hands."  He  smiled  lather  sadly.  "  But  for 
love,  Clara — I  fear  nothing  can  be  done  to  warm  to  life  this 
poor  perished  love  of  ours.  We  can,  perhaps,  take  hands 
and  watch  its  corpse  patiently  together  and  say  how  sorry 
we  are  it  is  dead — such  penitence  comes  always  too  late  1 " 

He  sighed,  and  put  her  gently  away  from  him. 

She  turned  up  her  flushed,  tear-stained  face  to  his. 

"  Will  you  kiss  me,  Harry  ?  "  she  asked  tremblingly. 
He  met  her  eyes,  and  an  exclamation  that  was  almost  a 
groan  broke  from  his  lips.  A  shudder  passed  through  his 
frame. 

"  I  can't,  Clara  I  I  can't — God  forgive  me  I — Not  yet  1  " 
And  with  that  he  bowed  his  head  and  left- her. 

She  listened  to  the  echo  of  his  firm  footsteps  dying  away, 
and  creeping  guiltily  to  a  side-door  she  opened  it,  and 
watched  yearningly  his  retreating  figure  till  it  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  Why  did  I  never  love  him  till  now  ?  "  she  murmured 
sobbingly.  "  Now,  when  he  despises  me — when  he  will  not 

even  kiss  me  ? "  She  leaned  against  the  half-open  door 

in  an  attitude  of  utter  dejection,  not  caring  to  move,  listen- 
ing intently  with  a  vague  hope  of  hearing  her  husband's 


424  THELMA. 

returning  tread.  A  lighter  step  than  his,  however,  came 
suddenly  along  from  the  other  side  of  the  passage  and 
startled  her  a  little — it  was  Ernest,  looking  the  picture  of 
boyish  health  and  beauty.  He  was  just  going  out  for  his 
usual  ride — he  lifted  his  cap  with  a  pretty  courtesy  as  he 
saw  her,  and  said — 

"  Good-morning,  mother  !  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  new  interest, — how  handsome  the 
lad  was  ! — how  fresh  his  face ! — how  joyously  clear  those 
bright  blue  eyes  of  his  !  He,  on  his  part,  was  moA'ed  by  a 
novel  sensation  too — his  mother, — his  proud,  beautiful, 
careless  mother  had  been  crying — he  saw  that  at  a  glance, 
and  his  young  heart  beat  faster  when  she  laid  her  white 
hand,  sparkling  all  over  with  rings,  on  his  arm  and  drew 
him  closer  to  her. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  Park  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  Yes."  Then  recollecting  his  training  in  politeness  and 
obedience  he  added  instantly — "  Unless  you  want  me." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  I  never  do  want  }rou — do  I, 
Ernest  ?  "  she  asked  half  sadly.  "  I  never  want  my  boy 
at  all."  Her  voice  quivered. — and  Ernest  grew  more  and 
more  astonished. 

"  If  3Tou  do,  I'll  stay,"  he  said  stoutly,  filled  with  a  chiv- 
alrous desire  to  console  his  so  suddenly  tender  mother  of 
his,  whatever  her  griefs  might  be.  Her  eyes  filled  again, 
but  she  tried  to  laugh. 

"  No  dear — not  now, — run  along  and  enjoy  yourself. 
Come  to  me  when  you  return.  I  shall  be  at  home  all  day. 
And, — stop  Ernest — won't  you  kiss  me  ?  " 

The  boy  opened  his  eyes  wide  in  respectful  wonderment, 
and  his  cheeks  flushed  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"  Why,  mother — of  course  !  "  And  his  fresh,  sweet  lips 
closed  on  hers  with  frank  and  unaffected  heartiness.  She 
held  him  fast  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  Tell  your  father  you  kissed  me — will  you  ?  "  she  said. 
"  Don't  forget !  " 

And  with  that  she  waved  her  hand  to  him,  and  retreated 
again  into  her  own  apartment.  The  boy  went  on  his  way 
somewhat  puzzled  and  bewildered — did  his  mother  love  him, 
after  all  ?  If  so,  he  thought — how  glad  he  was  ! — how  very 
glad  1  and  what  a  pity  he  had  not  known  it  before  1 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  425 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

4<  I  heed  not  custom,  creed,  nor  law ; 
I  care  for  nothing  that  ever  I  saw — 
I  terribly  laugh  with  an  oath  and  sneer, 
When  I  think  that  the  hour  of  Death  draws  near  ! " 

W.  WINTER. 

ERRINGTON'S  first  idea,  on  leaving  Winsleigh  House,  was 
to  seek  an  interview  with  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  and  demand 
an  explanation.  He  could  not  understand  the  man's  motive 
for  such  detestable  treachery  and  falsehood.  His  anger  rose 
to  a  white  heat  as  he  thought  of  it,  and  he  determined  to 
"  have  it  out  "  with  him  whatever  the  consequences  might 
be.  "  No  apology  will  serve  his  turn,"  he  muttered.  "  The 
scoundrel !  He  has  lied  deliberately — and,  by  Jove,  he  shall 
pay  for  it !  " 

And  he  started  off  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Piccadilly, 
but  on  the  way  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  no 
weapon  with  him,  not  even  a  cane  wherewith  to  carry  out 
his  intention  of  thrashing  Sir  Francis,  and  calling  to  mind 
a  certain  heavy  horsewhip,  that  hung  over  the  mantel-piece 
in  his  own  room,  he  hailed  a  hansom,  and  was  driven  back 
to  his  house  in  order  to  provide  himself  with  that  imple- 
ment of  castigation  before  proceeding  further.  On  arriving 
at  the  door,  to  his  surprise  he  found  Lorimer  who  was  just 
about  to  ring  the  bell. 

u  Why,  I  thought  you  were  in  Paris  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  came  back  last  night,"  George  began,  when  Morris 
opened  the  door,  and  Errington,  taking  his  friend  by  the 
arm  hurried  him  into  the  house.  In  five  minutes  he  had 
unburdened  himself  of  all  his  troubles — and  had  explained 
the  misunderstanding  about  Violet  Vere  and  Thelma's  con- 
sequent flight.  Lorimer  listened  with  a  look  of  genuine 
pain  and  distress  on  his  honest  face. 

"  Phil,  you  have  been  a  fool !  "  he  said  candidly.  "  A 
positive  fool,  if  jTou'll  pardon  me  for  saying  so.  You  ought 
to  have  told  Thelma  everything  at  first, — she's  the  very  last 
woman  in  the  world  who  ought  to  be  kept  in  the  dark  about 
anything.  Neville's  feelings  ?  Bother  Neville's  feelings ! 
Depend  upon  it  the  poor  girl  has  heard  all  manner  of 


*26  THELMA. 

stories.  She's  been  miserable  for  some  time — Duprez 
noticed  it."  And  he  related  in  a  few  words  the  little  scene 
that  had  taken  place  at  Errington  Manor  on  the  night  of 
the  garden-party,  when  his  playing  on  the  organ  had  moved 
her  to  such  unwonted  emotion. 

Philip  heard  him  in  moody  silence, — how  had  it  hap- 
pened, he  wondered,  that  others, — comparative  strangers, 
— had  observed  that  Thelma  looked  unhappy,  while  he,  her 
husband,  had  been  blind  to  it  ?  He  could  not  make  this 
out, — and  yet  it  is  a  thing  that  very  commonly  happens. 
Our  nearest  and  dearest  are  often  those  who  are  most  in 
the  dark  respecting  our  private  and  personal  sufferings, 
— we  do  not  wish  to  trouble  them, — and  they  prefer  to 
think  that  everything  is  right  with  us,  even  though  the 
rest  of  the  world  can  plainly  perceive  that  everything  is 
wrong.  To  the  last  moment  they  will  refuse  to  see  death  in 
our  faces,  though  the  veriest  stranger  meeting  us  casually, 
clearly  beholds  the  shadow  of  the  dark  Angel's  hand. 

"  Apropos  of  Lennox,"  went  on  Lorimer,  sympathetically 
watching  his  friend,  "  I  came  on  purpose  to  speak  to  you 
about  him.  I've  got  some  news  for  you.  He's  a  regular 
sneak  and  scoundrel.  You  can  thrash  him  to  your  heart's 
content  for  he  has  grossly  insulted  your  wife." 

"  Insulted  her  ?  "  cried  Errington  furiously.  "  How, — 
•what " 

"  Give  me  time  to  speak  !  "  And  George  laid  a  restrain- 
ing hand  on  his  arm.  "  Thelma  visited  my  mother  yes- 
terday and  told  her  that  on  the  night  before,  when  you  had 
gone  out,  Lennox  took  advantage  of  3rour  absence  to  come 
here  and  make  love  to  her, — and  she  actually  had  to 
struggle  with  him,  and  even  to  strike  him,  in  order  to  re- 
lease herself  from  his  advances.  My  mother  advised  her 
to  tell  you  about  it — and  she  evidently  then  had  no  inten- 
tion of  flight,  for  she  said  she  would  inform  you  of  every- 
thing as  soon  as  you  returned  from  the  country.  And  if 
Lady  Winsleigh  hadn't  interfered,  it's  very  probable  that 

— I  say,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  This  as  Philip  made 
a  bound  for  the  door. 

"  To  get  my  horsewhip  !  "  he  answered. 

"  All  right — I  approve !  "  cried  Lorimer.  "  But  wait 
one  instant,  and  see  how  clear  the  plot  becomes.  Thelma's 
beauty  had  maddened  Lennox, — to  gain  her  good  opinion, 
as  he  thinks,  he  throws  his  mistress,  Violet  Vere,  on  your 
shoulders — (your  ingenuous  visits  to  the  Brilliant  Theatre 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  427 

gave  him  a  capital  pretext  for  this)  and  as  for  Lady  Wins- 
leigh's  share  in  the  mischief,  it's  nothing  but  mere  feminine 
spite  against  you  for  marrying  at  all,  and  hatred  of  the 
woman  whose  life  is  such  a  contrast  to  her  own,  and  who 
absorbs  all  3-011  r  affection.  Lennox  has  used  her  as  his  tool 
and  the  Vere  also,  I've  no  doubt.  The  thing's  as  clear  as 
crystal.  It's  a  sort  of  general  misunderstanding  all 
round — one  of  those  eminently  unpleasant  trifles  tha<; 
very  frequently  upset  the  peace  and  comfort  of  the  most 
quiet  and  inoffensive  persons.  But  the  fault  lies  with  you, 
dear  old  boy  !  " 

"  With  me  !  "  exclaimed  Philip. 

"  Certainly  !  Thelma's  soul  is  as  open  as  daj^light — you 
shouldn't  have  had  any  secret  from  her,  however  trifling. 
She's  not  a  woman  '  on  guard,' — she  can't  take  life  as  the 
most  of  us  do,  in  military  fashion,  with  ears  pricked  for 
the  approach  of  a  spy,  u.;d  prepared  to  expect  betrayal 
from  her  most  familiar  friends.  She  accepts  things  as  they 
appear,  without  any  suspicion  of  mean  ulterior  designs. 
It's  a  pity,  of  course ! — it's  a  pity  she  can't  be  worldly-wise, 
and  scheme  and  plot  and  plan  and  lie  like  the  rest  of  us  I 
However,  your  course  is  plain — first  interview  Lennox  and 
then  follow  Thelma.  She  can't  have  left  Hull  yet, — there 
are  scarcely  any  boats  running  to  Norway  at  this  season. 
You'll  overtake  her  I'm  certain." 

"  By  Jove,  Lorimer  !  "  said  Errington  suddenly.  "  Clara 
Winsleigh  sticks  at  nothing — do  you  know  she  actually  had 
the  impudence  to  suggest  that  you, — you,  of  all  people, — 
were  in  love  with  Thelma  !  " 

Lorimer  flushed  up,  but  laughed  lightly.  "  How  awfully 
sweet  of  her!  Much  obliged  to  her,  I'm  sure!  And  how 
did  you  take  it  Phil  ?  " 

"Take  it?  I  didn't  take  it  at  all,"  responded  Philip 
warmly.  "  Of  course,  I  knew  it  was  only  her  spite — she'd 
say  anything  in  oi»3  of  her  tempers." 

Lorimer  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  tenderness  in  his 
blue  eyes.  Then  he  laughed  again,  a  little  forcedly,  and 
said — 

u  Be  off,  old  man,  and  get  that  whip  of  yours !  We'll 
run  Lennox  to  earth.  Hullo  !  here's  Britta !  " 

The  little  maid  entered  hurriedly  at  that  moment, — she 
came  to  ask  with  quivering  lips,  whether  she  might  accom- 
pany Sir  Philip  in  his  intended  journey  to  Norway. 

"  For   if  you  do  not  find  the  Froken  at  Hull,  you  will 


428  THELMA. 

want  to  reach  the  Altenfjord,"  said  Britta,  folding  her 
hands  resolutely  in  front  of  her  apron,  "  and  you  will  not 
get  on  without  me.  You  do  not  know  what  the  country  is 
like  in  the  depth  of  winter  when  the  sun  is  asleep.  You 
must  have  the  reindeer  to  help  you — and  no  Englishman 
knows  how  to  drive  reindeer.  And — and — "  here  Britta's 
eyes  filled — "  you  have  not  thought,  perhaps,  that  the 
journey  may  make  the  Frb'ken  very  ill — and  that  when  we 

find  her — she  may  be  dying "  and  Britta's  strength  gave 

way  in  a  big  sob  that  broke  from  the  depths  of  her  honest, 
affectionate  heart. 

"  Don't— don't  talk  like  that,  Britta  !  "  cried  Philip  pas- 
sionately. "  I  can't  bear  it!  Of  course,  you  shall  go  with 
me!  I  wouldn't  leave  you  behind  for  the  world!  Get 

everything  ready "  and  in  a  fever  of  heat  and  impatience 

he  began  rumaging  among  some  books  on  a  side-shelf,  till 
he  found  the  time-tables  he  sought.  "  Yes, — here  we  are, 
— there's  a  train  leaving  for  Hull  at  five — we'll  take  that. 
Tell  Morris  to  pack  my  portmanteau,  and  you  bring  it 
along  with  you  to  the  Midland  railway-station  this  after- 
noon. Do  you  understand  ? " 

Britta  nodded  emphatically,  and  hurried  off  at  once  to 
busy  herself  with  these  preparations,  while  Philip,  all  ex- 
citement, dashed  off  to  give  a  few  parting  injunctions  to 
Neville,  and  to  get  his  horsewhip. 

Lorimer,  left  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  seated  himself  in 
an  easy  chair  and  began  absently  turning  over  the  news- 
papers on  the  table.  But  his  thoughts  were  far  away,  and 
presently  he  covered  his  eyes  with  one  hand  as  though  the 
light  hurt  them.  When  he  removed  it,  his  lashes  were  wet. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  !  "  he  muttered  impatiently.  •'  Oh 
Thelma,  Thelma  !  my  darling  ! — how  I  wish  I  could  follow 
and  find  you  and  console  you  ! — you  poor,  tender,  resigned 
soul,  going  away  like  this  because  you  thought  you  were 
not  wanted — not  wanted ! — my  God ! — if  you  only  knew 
how  one  man  at  least  has  wanted  and  yearned  for  you  ever 
since  he  saw  your  sweet  face  ! — Why  can't  I  tear  you  out 
of  my  heart — why  can't  I  love  some  one  else  ?  Ah  Phil ! — 
good,  generous,  kind  old  Phil ! — he  little  guesses,"  he  rose 
and  paced  the  room  up  and  down  restlessly.  "  The  fact  is 
I  oughtn't  to  be  here  at  all — I  ought  to  leave  England 
altogether  for  a  long  time — till — till  I  get  over  it.  The 
question  is.  shall  I  ever  get  over  it  ?  Sigurd  was  a  wise 
boy — he  found  a  short  way  out  of  all  his  troubles, — suppose 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  429 

1  imitate  his  example  ?  No, — for  a  man  in  his  senses  that 
would  be  rather  cowardly — though  it  might  be  pleasant  1  " 
He  stopped  in  his  walk  with  a  pondering  expression  on  his 
face.  "  At  any  rate,  I  won't  stop  here  to  see  her  come 
back — I  couldn't  trust  myself, — I  should  say  something 
foolish — I  know  I  should  !  I'll  take  my  mother  to  Italy — 
she  wants  to  go  ;  and  we'll  stay  with  Lovelace.  It'll  be  a 
change — and  I'll  have  a  good  stand-up  fight  with  myself, 
and  see  if  I  can't  come  off  the  conqueror  somehow  !  It's  all 
very  well  to  kill  an  opponent  in  battle  but  the  question  is, 
can  a  man  kill  his  inner,  grumbling,  discontented,  selfish 
Self  ?  If  he  can't,  what's  the  good  of  him  ?  " 

As  he  was  about  to  consider  this  point  reflectively, 
Errington  entered,  equipped  for  travelling,  and  whip  in 
hand.  His  imagination  had  been  at  work  during  the  past 
few  minutes,  exaggerating  all  the  horrors  and  difficulties  of 
Thelma's  journey  to  the  Altenfjord,  till  he  was  in  a  perfect 
fever  of  irritable  excitement. 

"  Come  on  Lorimer ! "  he  cried.  "  There's  no  time  to 
lose !  Britta  knows  what  to  do — she'll  meet  me  at  the 
station.  I  can't  breathe  in  this  wretched  house  a  moment 
longer— let's  be  off !  " 

Plunging  out  into  the  hall,  he  bade  Morris  summon  a 
hansom, — and  with  a  few  last  instructions  to  that  faithful 
servitor,  and  an  encouraging  kind  word  and  shake  of  the 
hand  to  Neville,  who  with  a  face  of  remorseful  misery, 
stood  at  the  door  to  watch  his  departure, — he  was  gone. 
The  hansom  containing  him  and  Lorimer  rattled  rapidly 
towards  the  abode  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  but  on  entering 
Piccadilly,  the  vehicle  was  compelled  to  go  so  slowly  on  ac- 
count of  the  traffic,  that  Errington,  who  every  moment 
grew  more  and  more  impatient,  could  not  stand  it. 

"  By  Jove  1  this  is  like  a  walking  funeral !  "  he  muttered. 
"  I  say  Lorimer,  let's  get  out !  We  can  do  the  rest  on  foot." 

They  stopped  the  cabman  and  paid  him  his  fare — then 
hurried  along  rapidly,  Errington  every  now  and  then  giving 
a  fiercer  clench  to  the  formidable  horsewhip  which  was 
twisted  together  with  his  ordinary  walking-stick  in  such  a 
manner  as  not  to  attract  special  attention. 

"Coward  and  liar!"  he  muttered,  as  he  thought  of  the 
man  he  was  about  to  punish.  "  He  shall  pay  for  his 
dastardly  falsehood — by  .love  he  shall !  It'll  be  a  precious 
long  time  before  he  shows  himself  in  society  any  more  ! '' 

Then  he  addressed  Lorimer.     "  You  may  depend  upon  it 


430  THELMA. 

he'll  shout  '  police !  police  ! '  and  make  for  the  door,"  he 
observed.  "  You  keep  your  back  against  it,  Lorimer  !  I 
don't  care  how  many  fines  I've  got  to  pay  as  long  as  I  can 
thrash  him  soundly  !  " 

"  All  right ! "  Lorimer  answered,  and  they  quickened 
their  pace.  As  they  neared  the  chambers  which  Sir 
Francis  Lennox  rented  over  a  fashionable  jeweller's  shop, 
they  became  aware  of  a  small  procession  coming  straight 
towards  them  from  the  opposite  direction.  Something  was 
being  carried  between  four  men  who*  appeared  to  move  with 
extreme  care  and  gentleness, — this  something  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  boys  and  men  whose  faces  were  full 
of  morbid  and  frightened  interest — the  whole  cortege  was 
headed  by  a  couple  of  solemn  policemen.  "  You  spoke  of  a 
walking  funeral  just  now,"  said  Lorimer  suddenly.  "  This 
looks  uncommonly  like  one." 

Errington  made  no  reply — he  had  only  one  idea  in  his 
mind, — the  determination  to  chastise  and  thoroughly  dis- 
grace Sir  Francis.  "  I'll  hound  him  out  of  the  clubs !  "  he 
thought  indignantly.  "  His  own  set  shall  know  what  a 
liar  he  is — and  if  I  can  help  it  he  shall  never  hold  up  his 
head  again !  " 

Entirely  occupied  as  he  was  with  these  reflections,  he 
paid  no  heed  to  anything  that  was  going  on  in  the  street, 
and  he  scarcely  heard  Lorimer's  last  observation.  So  that 
he  was  utterly  surprised  and  taken  aback,  when  he,  with 
Lorimer,  was  compelled  to  come  to  a  halt  before  the  very 
door  of  the  jeweller,  Lennox's  landlord,  while  the  two 
policemen  cleared  a  passage  through  the  crowd,  saying  in 
low  tones,  "  Stand  aside,  gentlemen,  please  ! — stand  aside," 
thus  making  gradual  way  for  four  bearers,  who,  as  was  now 
plainly  to  be  seen,  carried  a  common  wooden  stretcher 
covered  with  a  cloth,  under  which  lay  what  seemed,  from 
its  outline,  to  be  a  human  figure. 

"  What's  the  matter  here  ?  "  asked  Lorimer,  with  a  curi- 
ous cold  thrill  running  through  him  as  he  put  the  simple 
question. 

One  of  the  policemen  answered  readily  enough. 

"  An  accident,  sir.  Gentleman  badly  hurt.  Down  at 
Charing  Cross  Station — tried  to  jump  into  a  train  when  it 
had  started, — foot  caught, — was  thrown  under  the  wheels 
and  dragged  along  some  distance — doctor  says  he  can't  live, 
sir." 

"  Who  is  he, — what's  his  name  ?  " 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  431 

"  Lennox,  sir — leastways,  that's  the  name  on  his  card — 
and  this  is  the  address.  Sir  Francis  Lennox,  I  believe  it 
is." 

Errington  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation  of  horror, — at  that 
moment  the  jeweller  came  out  of  the  recesses  of  his  shop 
with  uplifted  hands  and  bewildered  countenance. 

"  An  accident  ?  Good  Heavens ! — Sir  Francis  1  Up- 
stairs ! — take  him  up-stairs ! "  Here  he  addressed  the 
bearers.  "  You  should  have  gone  round  to  the  private 
entrance — he  mustn't  be  seen  in  the  shop — frightening 
away  all  my  customers — here,  pass  through  ! — pass  through, 
as  quick  as  you  can  !  " 

And  the}-  did  pass  through, — carrying  their  crushed 
burden  tenderly  along  by  the  shining  glass  cases  and 
polished  counters,  where  glimmered  and  flashed  jewels  of 
every  size  and  lustre  for  the  adorning  of  the  children  of  this 
world, — slowly  and  carefully,  step  by  step,  they  reached  the 
upper  floor, — and  there,  in  a  luxurious  apartment  furnished 
with  almost  feminine  elegance,  they  lifted  the  inanimate 
form  from  the  stretcher  and  laid  it  down,  still  shrouded,  on 
a  velvet  sofa,  removing  the  last  number  of  Truth,  and  two 
of  Zola's  novels,  to  make  room  for  the  heavy,  unconscious 
head. 

Errington  and  Lorimer  stood  at  the  doorway,  completely 
overcome  by  the  suddenness  of  the  event — they  had  fol- 
lowed the  bearers  up-stairs  almost  mechanical^, — exchang- 
ing no  word  or  glance  by  the  way, — end.  now  they  watched 
in  almost  breathless  suspense  while  a  surgeon  who  was 
present,  gently  turned  back  the  cover  that  hid  the  injured 
man's  features  and  exposed  them  to  full  view.  Was  that 
Sir  Francis  ?  that  blood-smeared,  mangled  creature  ? — that 
the  lascivious  dandy, — the  disciple  of  no-creed  and  self- 
worship  ?  Errington  shuddered  and  averted  his  gaze  from 
that  hideous  face, — so  horribly  contorted, — yet  otherwise 
deathlike  in  its  rigid  stillness.  There  was  a  grave  hush. 
The  surgeon  still  bent  over  him — touching  here,  probing 
there,  with  tenderness  and  skill, — but  finally  he  drew  back 
with  a  hopeless  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Nothing  can  be  done,"  he  whispered.  "  Absolutely 
nothing !  " 

At  that  moment  Sir  Francis  stirred, — he  groaned  and 
opened  his  eyes  ; — what  terrible  eyes  they  were,  filled  with 
that  look  of  intense  anguish,  and  something  worse  than 


432  THELMA 

anguish, — fear — frantic  fear — coward  fear — fear  that  waa 
almost  more  overpowering  than  his  bodily  suffering. 

He  stared  wildly  at  the  little  group  assembled — strange 
faces,  so  far  as  he  could  make  them  out,  that  regarded  him 
with  evident  compassion, — what — what  was  all  this — what 
did  it  mean  ?  Death  ?  No,  no  !  he  thought  madly,  while 
his  brain  reeled  with  the  idea — death  ?  What  was  death  ? 
— darkness,  annihilation,  blackness — all  that  was  horrible — 
unimaginable  !  God  1  he  would  not  die  !  God  ! — who  was 
God  ?  No  matter — he  would  live ; — he  would  struggle 
against  this  heaviness, — this  coldness — this  pillar  of  ice  in 
which  he  was  being  slowly  frozen — frozen — frozen  ! — inch 
b}'  inch  !  He  made  a  furious  effort  to  move,  and  uttered  a 
scream  of  agony,  stabbed  through  and  through  by  torturing 
pain. 

"  Keep  still !  "  said  the  surgeon  pityingly. 

Sir  Francis  heard  him  not.  He  wrestled  with  his  bodily 
anguish  till  the  perspiration  stood  in  large  drops  on  his 
forehead.  He  raised  himself,  gasping  for  breath,  and 
glared  about  him  like  a  trapped  beast  of  prey. 

"  Give  me  brandy  !  "  he  muttered  chokingly.  "  Quick — 
quick  !  Are  you  going  to  let  me  die  like  a  dog  ? — damn 
you  all !  " 

The  effort  to  move, — to  speak, — exhausted  his  sinking 
strength — his  throat  rattled, — he  clenched  his  fists  and 
made  as  though  he  would  spring  off  his  couch — when  a 
fearful  contortion  convulsed  his  whole  bod}', — his  eyes  rolled 
up  and  became  fixed — he  fell  heavily  back, — dead! 

Quietly  the  surgeon  covered  again  what  was  now  noth- 
ing,— nothing  but  a  multilated  corpse. 

"  It's  all  over  !  "  he  announce  briefly. 

Errington  heard  these  words  in  sickened  silence.  All 
over!  Was  it  possible?  Sc  soon?  All  over! — and  he 
had  come  too  late  to  punish  the  would-be  ravisher  of  his 
wife's  honor, — too  late !  He  still  held  the  whip  in  his  hand 
with  which  he  had  meant  to  chastise  that — that  distorted, 
mangled  lump  of  clay  yonder,  .  .  .  pah !  he  could  not 
bear  to  think  of  it,  and  he  turned  away,  faint  and  dizzy. 
He  felt, — rather  than  saw  the  staircase, — down  which  he 
dreamily  went,  followed  by  Lorimer. 

The  two  policemen  were  in  the  hall  scribbling  the  cut- 
and-dry  particulars  of  the  accident  in  their  note-books, 
which  having  done,  they  marched  off,  attended  by  a  wan- 
dering, bilious-looking  penny-a-liner  who  was  anxious  to 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  433 

write  a  successful  account  of  the  "  Shocking  Fatality,"  as  it 
was  called  in  the  next  day's  newspapers.  Then  the 
bearers  departed  cheerfully,  carrying  with  them  the  empty 
stretcher.  Then  the  jeweller,  who  seemed  quite  unmoved 
respecting  the  sudden  death  of  his  lodger,  chatted  amicably 
with  the  surgeon  about  the  reputation  and  various  de- 
merits of  the  deceased, — and  Errington  and  Lorimer,  as 
they  passed  through  the  shop,  heard  him  speaking  of  a 
person  hitherto  unheard  of,  namely,  Lady  Francis  Lennox, 
who  had  been  deserted  by  her  husband  for  the  past  six 
years,  and  who  was  living  uncomplainingly  the  life  of  an 
art-student  in  Germany  with  her  married  sister,  maintain- 
ing, by  the  work  of  her  own  hands,  her  one  little  child,  a 
boy  of  five. 

"  He  never  allowed  her  a  farthing,"  said  the  conversa- 
tional jeweller.  "  And  she  never  asked  him  for  one.  Mr. 
Wiggins,  his  lawyer — firm  of  Wiggins  &  Whizzer,  Furni- 
val's  Inn, — told  me  all  about  his  affairs.  Oh  yes — he  was 
a  regular  "  masher  " — tip-top !  Not  worth  much,  I  should 
say.  He  must  have  spent  over  a  thousand  a  j^ear  in  keep- 
ing up  that  little  place  at  St.  John's  Wood  for  Violet 
Vere.  ~He  owes  me  five  hundred.  However,  Mr.  Wiggins 
will  see  everything  fair,  I've  no  doubt.  I've  just  wired  to 
him,  announcing  the  death.  I  don't  suppose  any  one  will 
regret  him — except,  perhaps,  the  woman  at  St.  John's 
Wood.  But  I  believe  she's  playing  for  a  bigger  stake  just 
now."  And,  stimulated  by  this  thought,  he  drew  out  from 
a  handsome  morocco  case  a  superb  pendant  of  emeralds 
and  diamonds — a  work  of  art,  that  glittered  as  he  displayed 
it,  like  a  star  on  a  frosty  night. 

"Pretty  thing,  isn't  it?"  he  said  proudly.  "Eight 
hundred  pounds,  and  cheap,  too  I  It  was  ordered  for  Miss 
Vere,  two  months  ago,  by  the  Duke  of  Moorlands.  I  see 
he  sold  his  collection  of  pictures  the  other  day.  Luckily 
they  fetched  a  tidy  sum,  so  I'm  pretty  sure  of  the  money 
for  this.  He'll  sell  everj'thing  he's  got  to  please  her. 
Queer  ?  Oh,  not  at  all !  She's  the  rage  just  now, — I  can't 
see  anything  in  her  myself, — but  I'm  not  a  duke,  3rou  see 
— I'm  obliged  to  be  respectable !  " 

He  laughed  as  he  returned  the  pendant  to  its  nest  of 
padded  amber  satin,  and  Errington, — sick  at  heart  to  hear 
such  frivolous  converse  going  on  while  that  crushed  and 
lifeless  form  lay  in  the  very  room  above, — unwatched,  un- 
cared-for,— put  his  arm  through  Lorimer's  and  left  the  shop 
28 


434  THELMA. 

Once  in  the  open  street,  with  the  keen,  cold  air  blowing 
against  their  faces,  they  looked  at  each  other  blankly. 
Piccadilly  was  crowded  ;  the  hurrying  people  passed  and  re- 
passed, — there  were  the  shouts  of  omnibus  conductors  and 
newsboys — the  laughter  of  young  men  coming  out  of  the 
St.  James's  Hall  Restaurant ;  all  was  as  usual, — as,  in- 
deed, why  should  it  not  ?  What  matters  the  death  of  one 
man  in  a  million?  unless,  indeed,  it  be  a  man  whose  life, 
like  a  torch,  uplifted  in  darkness,  has  enlightened  and 
cheered  the  world, — but  the  death  of  a  mere  fashionable 
u  swell  "  whose  chief  talent  has  been  a  trick  of  lying  grace- 
fully— who  cares  for  such  a  one  ?  Society  is  instinctively 
relieved  to  hear  that  his  place  is  empty,  and  shall  know 
him  more.  But  Errington  could  not  immediately  forget 
the  scene  he  had  witnessed.  He  was  overcome  by  sensa- 
tions of  horror, — even  of  pity, — and  he  walked  by  his 
friend's  side  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  rid  of  this  thing !  "  he  said  suddenly, 
looking  down  at  the  horsewhip  in  his  hand. 

Lorimer  made  no  answer.  He  understood  his  feeling,  and 
realized  the  situation  as  sufficiently  grim.  To  be  armed 
with  a  weapon  meant  for  the  chastisement  of  a  man  whom 
Death  had  so  suddenly  claimed  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
unpleasant.  Yet  the  horsewhip  could  scarcely  be  thrown 
away  in  Piccadilly — such  an  action  might  attract  notice  and 
comment.  Presently  Philip  spoke  again. 

"  He  was  actually  married  all  the  time !  " 

"  So  it  seems  ;  "  and  Lorimer's  face  expressed  something 
very  like  contempt.  "  By  Jove,  Phil !  he  must  have  been 
an  awful  scoundrel  1  " 

"  Don't  let's  say  any  more  about  him — he's  dead  !  "  and 
Philip  quickened  his  steps.  "  And  what  a  horrible  death  !  " 

"  Horrible  enough,  indeed !  " 

Again  they  were  both  silent.  Mechanically  they  turned 
down  towards  Pall  Mall. 

"  George,"  said  Errington,  with  a  strange  awe  in  his 
tones,  "  it  seems  to  me  to-day  as  if  there  were  death  in  the 
air.  I  don't  believe  in  presentiments,  but  yet — yet  I  can- 
not help  thinking — what  if  I  should  find  my  Thelma — 
dead  ?  " 

Lorimer  turned  very  pale — a  cold  shiver  ran  through 
him,  but  he  endeavored  to  smile. 

"  For  God's  sake,  old  fellow,  don't  think  of  anything  so 
terrible !  Look  here,  you're  hipped — no  wonder !  and 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  435 

you've  got  a  long  journey  before  you.  Come  and  have 
lunch.  It's  just  two  o'clock.  Afterwards  we'll  go  to  the 
Garrick  and  have  a  chat  with  Beau  Lovelace — he's  a  first- 
rate  fellow  for  looking  on  the  bright  side  of  everything. 
Then  I'll  see  you  off  this  afternoon  at  the  Midland — what 
do  you  say  ? " 

Errington  assented  to  this  arrangement,  and  tried  to 
shake  off  the  depression  that  had  settled  upon  him,  though 
dark  forebodings  passed  one  after  the  other  like  clouds 
across  his  mind.  He  seemed  to  see  the  Altenguard  hills 
stretching  drearily,  white  with  frozen  snow,  around  the 
black  Fjord ;  he  pictured  Thelma,  broken-hearted,  fancying 
herself  deserted,  returning  through  the  cold  and  darkness 
to  the  lonely  farm-house  behind  the  now  withered  pines. 
Then  he  began  to  think  of  the  shell-cave  where  that  other 
Thelma  lay  hidden  in  her  last  deep  sleep, — the  wailing 
words  of  Sigurd  came  freshly  back  to  his  ears,  when  the 
poor  crazed  lad  had  likened  Thelma's  thoughts  to  his 
favorite  flowers,  the  pansies — "  One  by  one  you  will  gather 
and  play  with  her  thoughts  as  though  they  were  these 
blossoms ;  your  burning  hand  will  mar  their  color — they 
will  wither  and  furl  up  and  die, — and  you — what  will  you 
care  ?  Nothing !  No  man  ever  cares  for  a  flower  that  is 
withered, — not  even  though  his  own  hand  slew  it !  " 

Had  lie  been  to  blame  ?  he  mused,  with  a  sorrowful 
weight  at  his  heart.  Unintentionally,  had  he, — yes,  he 
would  put  it  plainly, — had  he  neglected  her,  just  a  little  ? 
Had  he  not,  with  all  his  true  and  passionate  love  for  her, 
taken  her  beauty,  her  devotion,  her  obedience  too  much  for 
granted — too  much  as  his  right  ?  And  in  these  latter 
months,  when  her  health  had  made  her  weaker  and  more  in 
need  of  his  tenderness,  had  he  not,  in  a  sudden  desire  for 
political  fame  and  worldly  honor,  left  her  too  much  alone,  a 
prey  to  solitude  and  the  often  morbid  musings  which  soli- 
tude engenders  ? 

He  began  to  blame  himself  heartily  for  the  misunder- 
standing that  had  arisen  out  of  his  share  in  Neville's  un- 
happy secret.  Neville  had  been  weak  and  timid. — he  had 
shrunk  nervously  from  avowing  that  the  notorious  Violet 
Vere  was  actually  the  woman  he  had  so  faithfulty  loved 
and  mourned, — but  he,  Philip,  ought  not  to  have  humored 
him  in  these  fastidious  scruples — he  ought  to  have  confided 
everything  to  Thelma.  He  remembered  now  that  he  had 
once  or  twice  been  uneasy  Jest  rumors  of  his  frequent  visits 


436  THELMA. 

to  Miss  Vere  might  possibly  reach  his  wife's  ears, — but, 
then,  as  his  purpose  was  absolutely  disinterested  and  harm 
less,  he  did  not  dwell  on  this  idea,  but  dismissed  it,  and 
held  his  peace  for  Neville's  sake,  contenting  himself  with 
the  thought  that,  "If  Thelma  did  hear  anything,  she 
would  never  believe  a  word  against  me." 

He  could  not  quite  see  where  his  fault  had  been, — though 
a  fault  there  was  somewhere,  as  he  uneasily  felt — and  he 
would  no  doubt  have  started  indignantly  had  a  small  elf 
whispered  in  his  ear  the  word  "  Conceit"  Yet  that  was 
the  name  of  his  failing — that  and  no  other.  How  many 
men,  otherwise  noble-hearted,  are  seriously,  though  often 
unconsciously,  burdened  with  this  large  parcel  of  blown-out 
Nothing !  Sir  Philip  did  not  appear  to  be  conceited — he 
would  have  repelled  the  accusation  with  astonishment, — 
not  knowing  that  in  his  very  denial  of  the  fault,  the  fault 
existed.  He  had  never  been  truly  humbled  but  twice  in 
his  life, — once  as  he  knelt  to  receive  his  mother's  dying 
benediction, — and  again  when  he  first  loved  Thelma,  and 
was  uncertain  whether  his  love  could  be  returned  by  so  fair 
and  pure  a  creature.  With  these  two  exceptions,  all  his 
experience  had  tended  to  give  him  an  excellent  opinion  of 
himself, — and  that  he  should  possess  one  of  the  best  and 
loveliest  wives  in  the  world,  seemed  to  him  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  usual  course  of  things.  The  feeling  that  it  was  a 
sheer  impossibility  for  her  to  ever  believe  a  word  against 
him,  rose  out  of  this  inward  self-satisfaction — this  one  flaw 
in  his  otherwise  bright,  honest,  and  lovable  character — a 
flaw  of  which  he  himself  was  not  aware.  Now,  when  for 
the  third  time  his  fairy  castle  of  perfect  peace  and  pleasure 
seemed  shaken  to  its  foundations, — when  he  again  realized 
the  uncertainly  of  life  or  death,  he  felt  bewildered  and 
wretched.  His  chiefest  pride  was  centred  in  Thelma,  and 
she — was  gone  !  Again  he  reverted  to  the  miserable  idea 
that,  like  a  melancholy  refrain,  haunted  him — "  What  if  I 
should  find  her  dead  !  " 

Absorbed  in  painful  reflections,  he  was  a  very  silent  com- 
panion for  Lorimer  during  the  luncheon  \7hich  they  took  at 
a  quiet  little  restaurant  well  known  to  the  habitues  of  Pall 
Mall  and  Regent  Street.  Lorimer  himself  had  his  own 
reasons  for  being  equally  depressed  and  anxious, — for  did 
he  not  love  Thelma  as  much  as  even  her  husband  could  ?- 
nay,  perhaps  more,  knowing  his  love  was  hopeless.  Not 
always  does  possession  of  the  adored  object  strengthen 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  437 

the  adoration, — the  rapturous  dreams  of  an  ideal  passion 
have  often  been  known  to  surpass  reality  a  thousandfold. 
So  the  two  friends  exchanged  but  few  words, — though  they 
tried  to  converse  cheerfully  on  indifferent  subjects,  and 
failed  in  the  attempt.  They  had  nearly  finished  their  light 
repast,  when  a  familiar  voice  saluted  them. 

"  It  is  Errington, — I  thocht  I  couldna  be  mistaken ! 
How  are  ye  both  ?  " 

Sandy  Macfarlane  stood  before  them,  unaltered,  save  that 
his  scanty  beard  had  grown  somewhat  longer.  They  had 
seen  nothing  of  him  since  their  trip  to  Norway,  and  they 
greeted  him  now  with  unaffected  heartiness,  glad  of  the  dis- 
traction his  appearance  afforded  them. 

"  Where  do  you  hail  from,  Mac?  "  asked  Lorimer,  as  he 
made  the  new-comer  sit  down  at  their  table.  "  We  haven't 
heard  of  you  for  an  age." 

"  It  is  a  goodish  bit  of  time,"  assented  Macfarlane,  "  but 
better  late  than  never.  I  came  up  to  London  a  week  ago 
from  Glasgie, — and  my  heed  has  been  in  a  whirl  ever  since. 
Eh,  mon !  but  it's  an  awfu'  place  ! — ma37be  I'll  get  used  to't 
after  a  wee  whilie." 

"  Are  you  going  to  settle  here,  then  ?  "  inquired  Erring- 
ton,  "  I  thought  you  intended  to  be  a  minister  somewhere 
in  Scotland?" 

Macfarlane  smiled,  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  hae  altered  ma  opee-mons  a  bit,"  he  said.  "  Ye  see, 
ma  aunt  in  Glasgie's  deed " 

"  I  understand."  laughed  Lorimer.  "  You've  come  in  for 
the  old  lady's  money  ?  " 

"  Puir  body  !  "  and  Sandy  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  A 
few  hours  before  she  died  she  tore  up  her  will  in  a  screamin' 
fury  o'  Christian  charity  and  forethought, — meanin'  to 
mak  anither  in  favor  o'  leavin'  a'  her  warld's  trash  to  the 
Fund  for  Pistributin'  Bible  Knowledge  among  the  Heathen 
— but  she  never  had  time  to  fulfill  her  intention.  She  went 
off  like  a  lamb, — and  there  being  no  will,  her  money  fell  to 
me,  as  the  nearest  survivin'  relative — eh  !  the  puir  thing  ! 
— if  her  dees-imbodied  spirit  is  anywhere  aboot,  she  must 
be  in  a  sair  plight  to  think  I've  got  it,  after  a'  her  curses  1 " 

"  How  much  ?  "  asked  Lorimer  amused. 

"  Oh,  just  a  fair  seventy  thousand  or  so,"  answered  Mac- 
farlane carelessly. 

"  Well  done,  Mac  ! "  said  Errington,  with  a  smile,  endeav- 


438  THELMA. 

oring  to  appear  interested.  "  You're  quite  rich,  then  ?  I 
congratulate  you  ! " 

"  Riches  are  a  snare,"  observed  Macfarlane,  sententiously, 
"  a  snare  and  a  decoy  to  both  soul  and  body  !  "  He  laughed 
and  rubbed  his  hands, — then  added  with  some  eagerness, 
"  I  say,  how  is  Lady  Errington  ? " 

•'  She's  very  well,''  answered  Sir  Philip  hurriedly,  ex- 
changing a  quick  look  with  Lorimer,  which  the  latter  at 
once  understood.  "  She's  away  on  a  visit  just  now.  I'm 
going  to  join  her  this  afternoon." 

"  I'm  sorry  she's  away,"  said  Sandy,  and  he  looked  very 
disappointed ;  "  but  I'll  see  her  when  she  comes  back. 
Will  she  be  long  absent  ?  " 

"  No,  not  long — a  few  days  only  " — and  as  Errington 
said  this  an  involuntary  sigh  escaped  him. 

A  few  days  only  ! — God  grant  it !  But  what — what  if 
he  should  find  her  dead  ? 

Macfarlane  noticed  the  sadness  of  his  expression,  but 
prudently  forbore  to  make  any  remark  upon  it.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  saying — 

"  Weel,  ye've  got  a  wife  worth  having — as  I  dare  say  ye 
know.  I  shall  be  glad  to  pay  my  respects  to  her  as  soon 
as  she  returns.  I've  got  your  address,  Errington — will  ye 
take  mine  ?  " 

And  he  handed  him  a  small  card  on  which  was  written 
in  pencil  the  number  of  a  house  in  one  of  the  lowest  streets 
in  the  East-end  of  London.  Philip  glanced  at  it  with  some 
surprise. 

"  Is  this  where  you  live  ?  "  he  asked  with  emphatic 
amazement. 

"  Yes.  It's  just  the  cleanest  tenement  I  could  find  in 
that  neighborhood.  And  the  woman  that  keeps  it  is  fairly 
respectable." 

"  But  with  your  money,"  remonstrated  Lorimer,  who 
also  looked  at  the  card,  "  I  rather  wonder  at  your  choice  of 
abode.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  know  what  sort  of  a 
place  it  is  ?  " 

A  steadfast,  earnest,  thinking  look  came  into  Macfar' 
lane's  deep-set,  grey  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  do  know,  pairfectly,"  he  said  in  answer  to  the 
question.  "  It's  a  place  where  there's  misery,  starvation, 
and  crime  of  all  sorts, — and  there  I  am  in  the  veiy  midst 
of  it — just  where  I  want  to  be.  Ye  see,  I  was  meant  to  be 
a  meenister — one  of  those  douce,  cannie,  comfortable  bodies 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  439 

that  drone  in  the  pulpit  about  predestination  and  original 
sin,  and  so  forth  a — sort,  of  palaver  that  does  no  good  to 
ony  resonable  creature — an'  if  I  had  followed  out  this  pro- 
fession, I  make  nae  cloot  that,  with  my  aunt's  seventy 
thousand,  I  should  be  a  vera  comfortable,  respectable,  sel- 
fish type  of  a  man,  who  was  decently  embarked  in  an  ap- 
parently important  but  really  useless  career " 

"  Useless  ?  "  interrupted  Lorimer  archly.  "  I  say,  Mac, 
take  care !  A  minister  of  the  Lord,  useless  !  " 

"  I'm  thinkin'  there  are  unco  few  meen-isters  o'  the  Lord 
in  this  warld,"  said  Macfarlane  musingly.  "  Maist  o'  them 
meen-ister  to  themselves,  an'  care  na  a  wheen  mair  for 
Christ  than  Buddha.  I  tell  ye,  I  was  an  altered  man  after 
we'd  been  to  Norway — the  auld  pagan  set  me  thinkin' 
mony  an'  mony  a  time — for,  ma  certes  1  he's  better  worthy 
respect  than  mony  a  so-called  Christian.  And  as  for  his 
daughter — the  twa  great  blue  eyes  o'  that  lassie  made  me 
fair  ashamed  o'  mysel'.  Why  ?  Because  I  felt  that  as  a 
meen-ister  o'  the  Established  Kirk,  I  was  bound  to  be  a 
sort  o'  heep-ocrite, — ony  thinkin',  reasonable  man  wi'  a 
conscience  cauna  be  otherwise  wi'  they  folk, — and  ye  ken, 
Errington,  there's  something  in  3"our  wife's  look  that  maks 
a  body  hesitate  before  tellin'  a  lee.  Weel — what  wi'  her 
face  an'  the  auld  bonders  talk,  I  reflectit  that  I  couldna  be  a 
meen-ister  as  meen-isters  go, — an'  that  I  must  e'en  follow 
oot  the  Testament's  teachings  according  to  ma  own  way  o' 
thinkin'.  First,  I  fancied  I'd  rough  it  abroad  as  a  mees- 
ionary — then  I  remembered  the  savages  at  hame,  an'  de- 
cided to  attend  to  them  before  onything  else.  Then  my 
aunt's  siller  came  in  handy — in  short,  I'm  just  gaun  to  live 
on  as  wee  a  handfu'  o'  the  filthy  lucre  as  I  can,  an'  lay  oot 
the  rest  on  the  heathens  o'  London.  An'  it's  as  well  to  do't 
while  I'm  alive  to  see  to't  mysel' — for  I've  often  observed 
that  if  ye  leave  your  warld's  gear  to  the  poor  when  ye're 
deed,  just  for  the  gude  reason  that  ye  canna  tak  it  to  the 
grave  wi'  ye, — it'll  melt  in  a  wonderfu'  way  through  the 
hands  o'  the  '  secretaries  '  an' '  distributors  '  o'  the  fund,  till 
there's  naething  left  for  those  yc  meant  to  benefit.  Ye 
maunua  think  I'm  gaun  to  do  ony  preachin'  business  down 
at  East-end, — there's  too  much  o'  that  an'  tract-givin' 
already.  The  puir  soul  whose  wee  hoosie  I've  rented 
hadna  tasted  bit  nor  sup  for  three  days — till  I  came  an' 
startled  her  into  a  greetin'  fit  by  takin'  her  rooms  an'  payin' 
her  in  advance — eh  !  rnon,  ye'd  have  thought  I  was  a  saint 


440  THELMA. 

frae  heaven  if  ye'd  heard  her  blessin'  me, — an'  a  gude  curate 
had  called  on  her  just  before  and  had  given  her  a  tract  to 
dine  on.  Ye  see,  I  maun  mak  mysel'  a  friend  to  the  folk 
first,  before  I  can  do  them  gude — I  maun  get  to  the  heart  o' 
their  troubles — an'  troubles  are  plentiful  in  that  quarter, — 
I  maun  live  among  them,  an'  be  ane  o'  them.  I  wad  mind 
ye  that  Christ  Himsel'  gave  sympathy  to  begin  with, — he 
did  the  preachin'  afterwards." 

"  What  a  good  fellow  you  are,  Mac !  "  said  Errington, 
suddenly  seeing  his  raw  Scotch  friend  with  the  perverse 
accent,  in  quite  a  new  and  heroic  light. 

Macfarlane  actually  blushed.  "  Nonsense,  not  a  bit  o't !  " 
he  declared  quite  nervously.  "  It's  just  pure  selfishness, 
after  a' — for  I'm  simply  enjoyin'  mysel'  the  hale  day  long. 
Last  nicht,  I  found  a  wee  cripple  o'  a  laddie  sittin'  by  him- 
sel'  in  the  gutter,  munchin  a  potato  skin.  I  just  took  him, 
— he  starin'  an'  blinkin'  like  an  owl  at  me, — and  carried 
him  into  my  room.  There  I  gave  him  a  plate  o'  barley 
broth,  an'  finished  him  up  wi'  a  hunk  o'  gingerbread.  Ma 
certes !  Ye  should  ha'  seen  the  rascal  laugh.  'Twas  better 
than  lookin'  at  a  play  from  a  ten-guinea  box  on  the  grand 
tier!" 

"  By  Jove,  Sandy,  you're  a  brick  !  "  cried  Lorimer,  laugh- 
ing to  hide  a  very  different  emotion — "  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  that  sort  of  chap." 

"  Nor  had  I,"  said  Macfarlane  quite  simply — "  I  never 
fashed  mj'sel1  wi'  thinkin'  o'  ither  folks  troubles  at  a' — I 
never  even  took  into  conseederation  the  meanin'  o'  the 
Testament  teachings  till — I  saw  your  leddy  wife,  Erring- 
ton."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  added  gravel}' — "  Yes — 
and  I've  aften  fancied  she  maun  be  a  real  live  angel, — an' 
I've  sought  always  to  turn  my  hand  to  something  useful 
and  worth  the  doin', — ever  since  I  met  her." 

"  I'll  tell  her  so,"  said  poor  Philip,  his  heart  aching  for 
bis  lost  love  as  he  spoke,  though  he  smiled.  "  It  will  give 
Lor  pleasure  to  hear  it." 

Macfarlane  blushed  again  like  any  awkward  schoolboy. 

"  Oh,  I  dinna  ken  aboot  that !  "  he  said  hurriedly.  "  She's 
just  a  grand  woman  anyway."  Then,  bethinking  himself 
of  another  subject,  he  asked,  "  Have  you  heard  o'  the  Rev- 
erend  Mr.  Dyceworthy  lately  ?  " 

Errington  and  Lorimer  replied  in  the  negative. 

Macfarlane  laughed — his  eyes  twinkled.  "  It's  evident 
ye  never  read  police  reports,"  he  said — "  Talk  o'  meen- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  Ml 

isters, — he's  a  pretty  specimen  !  He's  been  bunted  out  o' 
his  place  in  Yorkshire  for  carry  in'  on  love-aft'airs  wi'  the 
women  o'  his  congregation.  One  <\a,y  he  locked  himsel'  in 
the  vestry  wi'  the  new-married  wife  o'  one  o'  his  preencipal 
supporters — an'  he  had  a  grand  time  of  it — till  the  husband 
came  an'  dragged  him  oot  an'  thrashed  him  soundly.  Then 
he  left  the  neighborhood — an'  just  th'  ither  day — he  turned 
up  in  Glasgie." 

Macfarlane  paused  and  laughed  again. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Lorimer,  with  some  interest — "  Did  you 
meet  him  there  ?  " 

"  That  did  I — but  no  to  speak  to  him — he  was  far  too 
weel  lookit  after  to  need  my  services,"  and  Macfarlane  rub- 
bed his  great  hands  together  with  an  irrepressible  chuckle. 
"  There  was  a  crowd  o'  hootin'  laddies  round  him,  an'  he 
was  callin'  on  the  heavens  to  bear  witness  to  his  purity. 
His  hat  was  off — an'  he  had  a  black  eye — an'  a'  his  coat  was 
covered  wi'  mud,  an'  a  policeman  was  embracin'  him  vera 
affectionately  by  th'  arm.  He  was  in  charge  for  drunken, 
disorderly,  an'  indecent  conduct — an'  the  magistrate  cam' 
down  pretty  hard  on  him.  The  case  proved  to  be  excep- 
tionally outrageous — so  he's  sentenced  to  a  month's  impris- 
onment an'  hard  labor.  Hard  labor  !  Eh,  mon  !  but  that's 
fine  !  Fancy  him  at  work — at  real  work  for  the  first  time 
in  a'  his  days  !  Gude  Lord  !  I  can  see  him  at  it !  " 

"  So  he's  come  to  that !  "  and  Errington  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  weary  contempt.  "  I  thought  he  would. 
His  career  as  a  minister  is  ended,  that's  one  comfort !  " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  o'  that !  "  said  Sandy  cautiously. 
"  There's  alwaj^s  America,  ye  ken.  He  can  mak'  a  holy 
martyr  o'  himsel'  there  !  He  may  gain  as  muckle  a  reputa- 
tion as  Henrj7  Ward  Beecher — ye  cann  ever  tell  what  may 
happen — 'tis  a  queer  warld  !  " 

"  Queer,  indeed  !  "  assented  Lorimer  as  they  all  rose  and 
left  the  restaurant  together.  "  If  our  present  existence  is 
the  result  of  a  fortuitous  conglomeration  of  atoms, — I  think 
the  atoms  ought  to  have  been  more  careful  what  they  were 
about,  that's  all  I  can  say  !  " 

They  reached  the  open  street,  where  Macfarlane  shook 
hands  and  went  his  way,  promising  to  call  on  Errington  as 
soon  as  Thelma  should  be  again  at  home. 

"  He's  turned  out  quite  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Lorimer,  when 
he  had  gone.  "  I  should  never  have  thought  he  had  so 
much  in  him.  He  has  become  a  philanthropist." 


442  THELMA. 

"  I  fancy  he's  better  than  an  ordinary  philanthropist," 
replied  Philip.  "  Philanthropists  often  talk  a  great  deal 
and  do  nothing." 

"  Like  members  of  Parliament,"  suggested  Lorimer,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Exactly  so.  By-the-by — I've  resigned  my  candidate 
ship." 

"  Resigned  ?  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sick  of  the  thing  !  One  has  to  be  such  a  hum- 
bug to  secure  one's  votes.  I  had  a  wretched  time  yester- 
day,— speechifying  and  trying  to  rouse  up  clodhoppers  to 
the  interests  of  their  country, — and  all  the  time  my  darling 
at  home  was  alone,  and  breaking  her  heart  about  me  !  By 
Jove  !  if  I'd  only  known  !  When  I  came  back  this  morning 
to  all  this  misery — I  told  Neville  to  send  in  my  resignation. 
I  repeated  the  same  thing  to  him  the  last  thing  before  I  left 
the  house." 

"  But  you  might  have  waited  a  day  or  two,"  said  Lorimei 
wonderingly.  "  You're  such  a  fellow  of  impulse,  Phil — 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it.  I'm  tired  of  politics.  I  began 
with  a  will,  fancying  that  every  member  of  the  house  had 
his  country's  interests  at  heart, — not  a  bit  of  it !  They're 
all  for  themselves — most  of  them,  at  any  rate — they're  not 
even  sincere  in  their  efforts  to  do  good  to  the  population. 
And  it's  all  very  well  to  stick  up  for  the  aristocracy  ;  but 
why,  in  Heaven's  name,  can't  some  of  the  wealthiest  among 
them  do  as  much  as  our  old  Mac  is  doing,  for  the  outcast 
and  miserable  poor  ?  I  see  some  real  usefulness  and  good  in 
his  work,  and  I'll  help  him  in  it  with  a  will — when — when 
Thelma  comes  back." 

Thus  talking,  the  two  friends  reached  the  Garrick  Club, 
where  they  found  Beau  Lovelace  in  the  reading-room,  turn- 
ing over  some  new  books  with  the  curious  smiling  ajr  of 
one  who  believes  there  can  be  nothing  original  under  the 
sun,  and  that  all  literature  is  mere  repetition.  He  greeted 
them  cheerfully. 

"  Come  out  of  here,"  he  said.  "  Come  into  a  place  where 
we  can  talk.  There's  an  old  fellow  over  there  who's  ready 
to  murder  any  member  who  even  whispers.  We  won't  excite 
his  angry  passions.  You  know  we're  all  literature-mongers 
here, — we've  each  got  our  own  little  particular  stall  where 
we  sort  our  goods — our  mouldy  oranges,  sour  apples,  and 
indigestible  nuts, — and  we  polish  them  up  to  look  tempting 
to  the  public.  It's  a  great  business,  and  we  can't  bear  to 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  443 

be  looked  at  while  we're  turning  our  apples  with  the  best 
side  outwards,  and  boiling  our  oranges  to  make  them  swell 
and  seem  big  !  We  like  to  do  our  humbug  in  silence  and 
alone." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  smoking-room — and  there  heard 
with  much  surprise  and  a  great  deal  of  concern  the  story 
of  Thelma's  flight. 

"  Ingenuous  boy  1  "  he  said  kindly,  clapping  Philip  on  the 
shoulder.  "  How  could  you  be  such  a  fool  as  to  think  that 
repeated  visits  to  Violet  Vere,  no  matter  on  what  business, 
would  not  bring  the  dogs  of  scandal  yelping  about  your 
heels  !  I  wonder  you  didn't  see  how  you  were  compromising 
yourself!  " 

"  He  never  told  me  a  word  about  it,"  interposed  Lorimer, 
"  or  else  I  should  have  given  him  a  bit  of  my  mind  on  the 
subject." 

"  Of  course !  "  agreed  Lovelace.  "  And — excuse  me — 
why  the  devil  didn't  you  let  your  secretary  manage  his  do- 
mestic squabbles  by  himself?  " 

"  He's  very  much  broken  down,"  said  Errington.  "  A 
hopeless,  frail,  disappointed  man.  I  thought  I  could  serve 
him " 

"  I  see  !  "  and  Beau's  eyes  were  bent  on  him  with  a  very 
friendly  look.  "  You're  a  first-rate  fellow,  Errington, — but 
you  shouldn't  fly  off'  so  readily  on  the  rapid  wings  of  im- 
pulse. Now  I  suppose  you  want  to  shoot  Lennox — that 
can't  be  done — not  in  England  at  any  rate." 

"  It  can't  be  done  at  all,  anywhere,"  said  Lorimer 
gravely.  "  He's  dead." 

Beau  Lovelace  started  back  in  amazement.  "  Dead  !  You 
don't  say  so!  Why,  he  was  dining  last  night  at  the 
Criterion — I  saw  him  there." 

Briefly  they  related  the  sudden  accident  that  had  oc- 
curred, and  described  its  fatal  result. 

"  He  died  horribly  !  "  said  Philip  in  a  low  voice.  "  I 
haven't  got  over  it  yet.  That  evil,  tortured  face  of  his 
haunts  me." 

Lovelace  was  only  slightly  shocked.  He  had  known 
Lennox's  life  too  well,  and  had  depised  it  too  thoroughly, 
to  feel  much  regret  now  it  was  thus  abruptly  ended. 

"  Rather  an  unpleasant  exit  for  such  a  fellow,"  he  re- 
marked. u  Not  aesthetic  at  all.  And  so  you  were  going  to 
castigate  him  ?  " 

"  Look  1 "  and  Philip  showed  him  the  horsewhip  ;  {'  I've 


444  THELMA. 

been  carrying  this  thing  about  all  day, — I  wish  I  could 
drop  it  in  the  streets ;  but  if  I  did,  some  one  would  be  sure 
to  pick  it  up  and  return  it  to  me." 

"  If  it  were  a  purse  containing  bank-notes  you  could 
drop  it  with  the  positive  certainty  of  never  seeing  it  again," 
laughed  Beau.  "  Here,  hand  it  over ! "  and  he  possessed 
himself  of  it.  "  I'll  keep  it  till  you  come  back.  You  leave 
for  Norway  to-night,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes.  If  I  can.  But  it's  the  winter  season — and  there'll 
be  all  manner  of  difficulties.  I'm  afraid  it's  no  easy  matter 
to  reach  the  Altenfjord  at  this  time  of  year." 

"  Why  not  use  your  yacht,  and  be  independent  of 
obstacles  ?  "  suggested  Lovelace. 

44  She's  under  repairs,  worse  luck !  "  sighed  Philip  de- 
spondingly.  "  She  won't  be  in  sailing  condition  for  another 
month.  No — I  must  take  my  chance — that's  all.  It's 
possible  I  may  overtake  Thelma  at  Hull — that's  my  great 
hope." 

"  Well,  don't  be  down  in  the  mouth  about  it,  my  boy  1 " 
said  Beau  sympathetically.  u  It'll  all  come  right,  depend 
upon  it  1  Your  wife's  a  sweet,  gentle,  noble  creature, — and 
when  once  she  knows  all  about  the  miserable  mistake  that 
has  arisen,  I  don't  know  which  will  be  greatest,  her  happi- 
ness or  her  penitence,  for  having  misunderstood  the  posi- 
tion. Now  let's  have  some  coffee." 

He  ordered  this  refreshment  from  a  passing  waiter,  and 
as  he  did  so,  a  gentleman,  with  hands  clasped  behind  his 
back,  and  a  suave  smile  on  his  countenance,  bowed  to  aim 
with  marked  and  peculiar  courtesy  as  he  sauntered  on  his 
way  through  the  room.  Beau  returned  the  salute  with 
equal  politeness. 

44  That's  Whipper,"  he  explained  with  a  smile,  when  the 
gentleman  was  out  of  earshot.  "  The  best  and  most  gener- 
ous of  men !  He's  a  critic — all  critics  are  large-minded  and 
and  generous,  we  know, — but  he  happens  to  be  remarkably 
so.  He  did  me  the  kindest  turn  I  ever  had  in  my  life. 
When  my  first  book  came  out,  he  fell  upon  it  tooth  and 
claw  ,mangled  it,  tore  it  to  ribbons,  metaphorically  speaking, 
— and  waved  the  fragments  mockingly  in  the  eyes  of  the 
public.  From  that  day  my  name  was  made — my  writings 
sold  off  with  delightful  rapidity,  and  words  can  never  tell 
how  I  blessed,  and  how  I  still  bless,  Whipper  !  He  always 
pitches  into  me — that's  what's  so  good  of  him  !  We're 
awfully  polite  to  each  other,  as  you  observe — and  what  is 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  445 

so  perfectly  charming  is  that  he's  quite  unconscious  how 
much  he's  helped  me  along  !  He's  really  a  first-rate  fellow. 
But  I  haven't  yet  attained  the  summit  of  my  ambition," — 
and  here  Lovelace  broke  off'  with  a  sparkle  of  fun  in  his 
clear  steel-grey  eyes. 

"  Why,  what  else  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Lorimer  laughing. 

"  I  want,"  returned  Beau  solemnly,  "  I  want  to  be  jeered 
at  by  Punch  !  I  want  Punch  to  make  mouths  at  me,  and 
give  me  the  benefit  of  his  inimitable  squeak  and  gibber. 
No  author's  fame  is  quite  secure  till  dear  old  Punch  has 
abused  him.  Abuse  is  the  thing  nowadays,  you  know. 
Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  be  praised  by  Punch.  That 
would  be  frightfully  unfortunate  !  " 

Here  the  coffee  arrived,  and  Lovelace  dispensed  it  to  hia 
friends,  talking  gaily  the  while  in  an  effort  to  distract  Er* 
rington  from  his  gloomy  thoughts. 

"  I've  just  been  informed  on  respectable  authority,  that 
Walt  Whitman  is  the  new  Socrates,"  he  said  laughingly. 
"  I  felt  rather  stunned  at  the  moment  but  I've  got  over  it 
now.  Oh,  this  deliciously  mad  London !  what  a  gigantia 
Colney  Hatch  it  is  for  the  crazed  folk  of  the  world  to  ail 
their  follies  m !  That  any  reasonable  Englishmen  with  such 
names  as  Shakespeare,  Byron,  Keats,  and  Shelley,  to  keep 
the  glory  of  their  country  warm,  should  for  one  moment 
consider  Walt  Whitman  a  poet !  Ye  gods  1  Where  are 
your  thunderbolts  1  " 

"  He's  an  American,  isn't  he  ?  "  asked  Errington. 

"  He  is,  my  dear  boy  I  An  American  whom  the  sensibk 
portion  of  America  rejects.  We,  therefore, — out  of  oppo» 
sition, — take  him  up.  His  chief  recommendation  is  that  he 
writes  blatantly  concerning  commonplaces, — regardless  of 
music  or  rhythm.  Here's  a  bit  of  him  concerning  the 
taming  of  oxen.  He  says  the  tamer  lives  in  a 

"  '  Placid  pastoral  region. 

There  they  bring  him  the  three-year-olds  and  the  four-year-olds  to 
break  them, — 

Some  are  such  beautiful  animals,  so  lofty  looking, — some  are  buff- 
colored,  some  mottled,  one  has  a  white  line  running  along  his 
back,  some  are  brindled, 

Some  have  wide  flaring  horns  (a  good  sign  !)  look  you  !  the  bright 
hides 

See  the  two  with  stars  on  their  foreheads — see  the  round  bodies  and 
broad  backs 

How  straight  and  square  they  stand  on  their  legs '  " 

"  Stop,  stop !  "  cried  Lorimer,  putting  his  hands  to  his 


446  THELXA. 

ears.     "  This  is  a  practical  joke,  Beau  1     No  one  would  call 
that  jargon  poetry  1 " 

"  Oh  1  wouldn't  they  though ! "  exclaimed  Lovelace. 
"  Let  some  critic  of  reputation  once  start  the  idea,  and  you'll 
have  the  good  London  folk  who  won't  bother  to  read  him 
for  themselves,  declaring  him  as  fine  as  Shakespeare.  The 
dear  English  muttons !  fine  Southdowns  !  fleecy  baa-lambs  ! 
once  let  the  Press-bell  tinkle  loudly  enough  across  the 
fields  of  literature,  and  they'll  follow,  bleating  sweetly  in 
any  direction  !  The  sharpest  heads  in  our  big  metropolis 
are  those  who  know  this,  and  who  act  accordingly." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  act  accordingly  ?  "  asked  Erring- 
ton,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  ?  I  can't !  I  never  asked  a  favor  from  the  Press 
in  my  life — but  its  little  bell  has  tinkled  for  me  all  the 
same,  and  a  few  of  the  muttons  follow,  but  not  all.  Are 
you  off  ?"  this,  as  they  rose  to  take  their  leave.  "Well, 
Errington,  old  fellow,"  and  he  shook  hands  warmly,  "  a 
pleasant  journey  to  you,  and  a  happy  return  home!  My 
best  regards  to  your  wife.  Lorimer,  have  you  settled 
whether  you'll  go  with  me  to  Italy  ?  I  start  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

Lorimer  hesitated — then  said,  "  All  right !  My  mother's 
delighted  at  the  idea, — yes,  Beau !  we'll  come.  Only  I  hope 
we  shan't  bore  you." 

"  Bore  me  !  you  know  me  better  than  that,"  and  he  ac- 
companied them  out  of  the  smoking-room  into  the  hall, 
while  Errington,  a  little  surprised  at  this  sudden  arrange- 
ment, observed — 

"  Why,  George — I  thought  you'd  be  here  when  we  came 
back  from  Norway — to — to  welcome  Thelma,  you  know  1 " 

George  laughed.  "  My  dear  boy,  I  shan't  be  wanted  ! 
Just  let  me  know  how  everything  goes  on.  You — you  see 
I'm  in  duty  bound  to  take  my  mother  out  of  London  in 
winter." 

• "  Just  so !  "  agreed  Lovelace,  who  had  watched  him 
narrowly  while  he  spoke.  "  Don't  grudge  the  old  lady  he" 
southern  sunshine,  Errington !  Lorimer  wants  brushing 
up  a  bit  too — he  looks  seedy.  Then  I  shall  consider  it  set- 
tled— the  day  after  to-morrow,  we  meet  at  Charing  Cross- 
morning  tidal  express,  of  course, — never  go  by  night 
service  across  the  Channel  if  you  can  help  it." 

Again  they  shook  hands  and  parted. 

"'  Best  thing  that  young  fellow  can  do  1  "  thought  Love- 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  447 

lace  as  he  returned  to  the  Club  reading-room.  "  The  sooner 
he  gets  out  of  this,  into  new  scenes  the  better, — he's  break- 
ing his  heart  over  the  beautiful  Thelma.  By  Jove !  the 
boy's  eyes  looked  like  those  of  a  shot  animal  whenever  her 
name  was  mentioned.  He's  rather  badly  hit !  " 
-  He  sat  down  and  began  to  meditate.  "  What  can  I  do 
for  him,  I  wonder  ?  "  he  thought.  "  Nothing,  I  suppose. 
A  love  of  that  sort  can't  be  remedied.  It's  a  pity — a  great 
pity !  And  I  don't  know  any  woman  likely  to  make  a 
counter-impression  on  him.  He'd  never  put  up  with  an 
Italian  beauty  " — he  paused  in  his  reflections,  and  the  color 
flushed  his  broad,  handsome  brow,  as  the  dazzling  vision  of 
a  sweet,  piquant  face  with  liquid  dark  eyes  and  rippling 
masses  of  rich  brown  hair  came  flitting  before  him — "  unless 
he  saw  Angela,"  he  murmured  to  himself  softly, — "and  he 
will  not  see  her, — besides,  Angela  loves  me!  " 

And  after  this,  his  meditations  seemed  to  be  particularly 
pleasant,  to  judge  from  the  expression  of  his  features. 
Beau  was  by  no  means  ignorant  of  the  tender  passion — he 
had  his  own  little  romance,  as  beautiful  and  bright  as  a 
summer-day — but  he  had  resolved  that  London,  with  its 
love  of  gossip,  its  scandal,  and  society  papers, — London, 
that  on  account  of  his  popularity  as  a  writer,  watched  his 
movements  and  chronicled  his  doings  in  the  most  authori- 
tative and  incorrect  manner, — London  should  have  no 
chance  of  penetrating  into  the  secret  of  his  private  life. 
And  so  far  he  had  succeeded — and  was  likely  still  to 
succeed. 

Meanwhile,  as  he  still  sat  in  blissful  reverie,  pretending 
to  read  a  newspaper,  though  his  thoughts  were  far  away 
from  it,  Errington  and  Lorimer  arrived  at  the  Midland  Sta- 
tion. Britta  was  already  there  with  the  luggage, — she  was 
excited  and  pleased — her  spirits  had  risen  at  the  prospect 
of  seeing  her  mistress  soon  again, — possibly,  she  thought 
gladly,  they  might  find  her  at  Hull, — they  might  not  have 
to  go  to  Norway  at  all.  The  train  came  up  to  the  platform 
— the  tickets  were  taken, — and  Sir  Philip,  with  Britta,  en- 
tered a  first-class  compartment,  while  Lorimer  stood  out- 
side leaning  with  folded  arms  on  the  carriage- window,  talk- 
ing cheerfully. 

"  You'll  find  her  all  right,  Phil,  I'm  positive  !  "  he  said. 
"  I  think  it's  very  probable  she  has  been  compelled  to  re- 
main at  Hull, — and  even  at  the  worst,  Britta  can  guide  you 
all  over  Norway,  if  necessary.  Nothing  will  daunt  her" 


4*8  THELMA. 

And  he  nodded  kindly  to  the  little  maid  who  had  regained 
her  rosy  color  and  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes  in  the  eagerness 
she  felt  to  rejoin  her  beloved  "  Froken."  The  engine-whistle 
gave  a  warning  shriek — Philip  leaned  out  and  pressed  his 
friend's  hand  warmly. 

"  Good-bye,  old  fellow  !     I'll  write  to  you  in  Italy." 

"  All  right — mind  you  do !  And  I  say — give  my  love  to 
Thelma  1  " 

Philip  smiled  and  promised.  The  train  began  to  move, — 
slowly  at  first,  then  more  quickly,  till  with  clattering  uproar 
and  puffing  clouds  of  white  steam,  it  rushed  forth  from  the 
station,  winding  through  the  arches  like  a  black  snake,  till 
it  had  twisted  itself  rapidly  out  of  sight.  Lorimer,  left 
alone,  looked  after  it  wistfully,  with  a  heavy  weight  of  un- 
uttered  love  and  sorrow  at  his  heart,  and  as  he  at  last 
turned  away,  those  haunting  words  that  he  had  heard  un- 
der the  pines  at  the  Altenfjord  recurred  again  and  again  to 
his  memor}^ — the  words  uttered  by  the  distraught  Sigurd — 
and  how  true  they  were,  he  thought !  how  desperately, 
cruelly  true  ! 

"  Good  things  may  come  for  others — but  for  you,  the 
heavens  are  empty  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  Honor  is  an  old-world  thing,  but  it  smells  sweet  to  those  in 
whose  bandit  is  strong." — OUIDA. 

DISAPPOINTMENT  upon  disappointment  awaited  Errington 
at  Hull.  Unfortunately,  neither  he  nor  Britta  knew  of  the 
existence  of  the  good  Norwegian  innkeeper,  Friedhof,  who 
had  assisted  Thelma  in  her  flight — and  all  their  persistent 
and  anxious  inquiries  elicited  no  news  of  her.  Moreover, 
there  was  no  boat  of  any  kind  leaving  immediately  for  Nor- 
way— not  even  a  whaler  or  fishing-smack.  In  a  week's 
time, — possibly  later, — there  would  be  a  steamer  starting 
for  Christiansund,  and  for  this,  Errington,  though  almost 
mad  with  impatience,  was  forced  to  wait.  And  in  the  mean- 
time, he  roamed  about  the  streets  of  Hull,  looking  eagerly 
at  every  fair-haired  woman  who  passed  him,  and  always 
hoping  that  Thelma  herself  would  suddenly  meet  him  face 
to  face,  and  put  her  hands  in  his.  He  wrote  to  Neville  and 
told  him  to  send  on  any  letters  that  might  arrive  for  him, 
and  by  every  post  he  waited  anxiously  for  one.  from  Thelnja, 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  449 

but  none  came.  To  relieve  his  mind  a  little,  he  scribbled  a 
long  letter  to  her,  explaining  everything,  telling  her  how  ar- 
dently he  loved  and  worshipped  her — how  he  was  on  his  way 
to  join  her  at  the  A 1  ten) ford, — and  ending  by  the  most  pas- 
sionate vows  of  unchanging  love  and  fidelity.  He  was 
somewhat  soothed  when  he  had  done  this — though  -he  did 
not  realize  the  fact  that  in  all  probability  he  himself  might 
arrive  before  the  letter.  The  slow,  miserable  days  went  on 
— the  week  was  completed — the  steamer  for  Christiansund 
started  at  last, — and,  after  a  terribly  stormy  passage,  he 
and  the  faithful  Britta  were  landed  there. 

On  arrival,  he  learned  that  a  vessel  bound  for  the  North 
Cape  had  left  on  the  previous  day — there  would  not  be  an- 
other for  a  fortnight.  Cursing  his  ill-luck,  he  resolved  to 
reach  the  Altenfjord  by  land,  and  began  to  make  arrange- 
ments accordingly.  Those  who  knew  the  country  well  en- 
deavored to  dissuade  him  from  this  desperate  project — the 
further  north,  the  greater  danger,  they  told  him, — moreover, 
the  weather  was,  even  for  Norway,  exceptionally  trying. 
Snow  lay  heavily  over  all  the  country  he  would  have  to 
traverse — the  only  means  of  conveyance  was  by  carriole  or 
pulkha — the  latter  a  sort  of  sledge  used  by  the  Laplanders, 
made  in  the  form  of  a  boat,  and  generally  drawn  by  rein- 
deer. The  capabilities  of  the  carriole  would  be  exhausted 
as  soon  as  the  snow-covered  regions  were  reached — and  to 
manage  a  pulkha  successfully,  required  special  skill  of  no 
ordinary  kind.  But  the  courageous  little  Britta  made  short 
work  of  all  these  difficulties — she  could  drive  a  pulkha, — 
she  knew  how  to  manage  reindeer, — she  entertained  not  the 
slightest  doubt  of  being  able  to  overcome  all  the  obstacles 
on  the  way.  At  the  same  time,  she  frankly  told  Sir  Philip 
that  the  journey  would  be  a  long  one,  perhaps  occupying 
several  days — that  they  would  have  to  rest  at  different 
farms  or  stations  on  the  road,  and  put  up  with  hard  fare — 
that  the  cold  would  be  intense, — that  often  they  would  find 
it  difficult  to  get  relays  of  the  required  reindeer, — and  that 
it  might  perhaps  be  wiser  to  wait  for  the  next  boat  going 
to  the  North  Cape. 

But  Errmgton  would  hear  of  no  more  delays — each  hour 
that  passed  filled  him  with  fresh  anxieties — and  once  in 
Norway  he  could  not  rest.  The  idea  that  Thelma  might 
be  ill — dying — or  dead — gained  on  him  with  redoubled 
force, — and  his  fears  easily  communicating  themselves  to 
Britta,  who  was  to  the  full  as  impatient  as  he,  the  two 
28 


450  THELMA. 

made  up  their  minds,  and  providing  every  necessary  for  the 
journey  they  could  think  of,  the}'  started  for  the  far  sunless 
North,  through  a  white,  frozen  land,  which  grew  whiter 
and  more  silent  the  further  they  went, — even  as  the  brood- 
ing sky  above  them  grew  darker  and  darker.  The  aurora 
borealis  flashed  its  brilliant  shafts  of  color  against  the  sable 
breast  of  heaven, — the  tall  pines,  stripped  bare,  every 
branch  thick  with  snow  and  dropping  icicles,  stood, — pale 
ghosts  of  the  forest, — shedding  frozen  tears — the  moon, 
more  like  steel  than  silver,  shone  frostily  cold,  her  light 
seeming  to  deepen  rather  than  soften  the  dreariness  of  the 
land — and  on — on — on — they  went,  Britta  enveloped  to  the 
chin  in  furs,  steadily  driving  the  strange  elfin-looking  steeds 
•with  their  horned  heads  casting  long  distorted  shadows  on 
'the  white  ground, — and  Philip  beside  her,  urging  her  on 
with  feverish  impatience,  while  he  listened  to  the  smooth 
trot  of  the  reindeer, — the  tinkle  of  the  bells  on  their  har- 
ness, and  the  hiss  of  the  sledge  across  the  sparkling  snow. 

Meanwhile,  as  he  thus  pursued  his  long  and  difficult 
Journey,  rumor  was  very  busy  with  his  name  in  London. 
Everybody — that  is,  everybody  worth  consideration  in  the 
circle  of  the  "  Upper  Ten  " — was  talking  about  him, — 
shrugging  their  shoulders,  lifting  their  e3'ebrows  and  smil- 
ing knowingly,  whenever  he  was  mentioned.  He  became 
more  known  in  one  day  than  if  he  had  served  his  country's 
interests  in  Parliament  for  3rears. 

On  the  very  morning  after  he  had  left  the  metropolis  en 
route  for  Norway,  that  admirably  conducted  society  jour- 
nal, the  Snake,  appeared, — and  of  course,  had  its  usual 
amount  of  eager  purchasers,  anxious  to  see  the  latest  bit 
of  aristocratic  scandal.  Often  these  good  folks  were  se- 
verely disappointed — the  Snake  was  sometimes  so  frightfully 
dull,  that  it  had  actually  nothing  to  say  against  anybody — 
then,  naturally,  it  was  not  worth  buying.  But  this  time  it 
was  really  interesting — it  knocked  down — or  tried  to  knock 
down — at  one  blow,  a  formerly  spotless  reputation — and 
"  really — really  !  "  said  the  Upper  Ten,  "  it  was  dreadful, 
but  of  course  it  was  to  be  expected !  Those  quiet,  seem- 
ingly virtuous  persons  are  always  the  worst  when  you 
come  to  know  them,  yet  who  would  have  thought  it ! " 
And  society  read  the  assailing  paragraph,  and  rolled  it  in 
its  rank  mouth,  like  a  bon-bon,  enjoying  its  flavor.  It  ran 
as  follows  :— 

on.  esgejlent  authority  tfcat  the    Norwegian 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  451 

'beauty,'  Lady  Bruce-Errington,  wife  of  Sir  Philip  Bruce- 
Errington,  is  about  to  sue  for  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of  in- 
fidelity. The  offending  dama  in  the  question  is  an  admired 
actress,  well-known  to  the  frequenters  of  the  Brilliant 
Theatre.  But  there  are  always  two  sides  to  these  affairs, 
and  it  is  rumored  that  the  fair  Norwegian  (who  before  her 
marriage,  we  understand,  was  a  great  adept  in  the  art  of 
milking  reindeer  on  the  shores  of  her  native  Fjord)  has 
private  reasons  of  her  own  for  desiring  the  divorce,  not  al- 
together in  keeping  with  her  stated  reasons  or  her  apparent 
reserve.  We  are,  however,  always  on  the  side  of  the  fair 
sex,  and,  as  the  faithless  husband  has  made  no  secret  of 
his  new  liaison,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  at  once  pronounce  in 
the  lady's  favor.  The  case  is  likely  to  prove  interesting 
to  believers  in  wedded  happiness,  combined  with  the  strict- 
est moral  and  religious  sentiments." 

Quite  by  accident  this  piece  of  would-be  "  smartness  " 
was  seen  by  Beau  Lovelace.  He  had  a  wholesome  con- 
tempt for  the  Snake — and  all  its  class, — he  would  never 
have  looked  at  it,  or  known  of  the  paragraph,  had  not  a 
friend  of  his  at  the  Garrick  pointed  it  out  to  him  with  half 
a  smile  and  half  a  sneer. 

"  It's  a  damned  lie !  "  said  Beau  briefly. 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved !  "  answered  his  friend,  and 
went  away  laughing. 

Beau  read  it  over  and  over  again,  his  blood  firing  with 
honest  indignation.  Thelma  !  Thelma — that  pure  white 
lily  of  womanhood, — was  she  to  have  her  stainless  life 
blurred  by  the  trail  of  such  a  .thing  as  the  Snake  ? — and  was 
Errington's  honor  to  be  attainted  in  his  absence,  and  he 
condemned  without  a  word  uttered  in  his  defence  ? 

"  Detestable  blackguard  !  "  muttered  Lovelace,  reverting 
in  his  mind  to  the  editor  of  the  journal  in  question. 
"  What's  his  name  I  wonder  ?  "  He  searched  and  found  it 
at  the  top  of  a  column — "  Sole  Editor  and  Proprietor, 
C.  Snawley-Grubbs,  to  whom  all  checks  and  post-office 
orders  should  be  made  payable.  The  Editor  cannot  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  return  of  rejected  MSS." 

Beau  noted  the  name,  and  wrote  the  address  of  the  office 
in  his  pocket-book,  smiling  curiously  to  himself  the  while. 

"  I'm  almost  glad  Errington's  out  of  the  way,  he  said 
half  aloud.  "  He  shan't  see  this  thing  if  I  can  help  it, 
though  I  dare  say  some  particularly  affectionate  friend  will 
gend  it  to  biro,  carefully  marked,  At  any  rate,  Jj§  needn't 


452  THELMA. 

know  it  just  yet — and  as  for  Lorimer — shall  I  tell  him? 
No,  I  won't.  I'll  have  the  game  all  to  myself — and — by 
Jove !  how  I  Khali  enjoy  it !  " 

An  hour  later  he  stood  in  the  office  of  the  Snake,  cour- 
teously inquiring  for  Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs.  Apparently  he 
had  come  on  horseback,  for  he  held  a  riding-whip  in  his 
hand, — the  very  whip  Errington  had  left  with  him  the  pre- 
vious da,y.  The  inky,  dirty,  towzle-headed  boy  who  pre- 
sided in  solitary  grandeur  over  the  Snake's  dingy  premises, 
stared  at  him  inquiringly, — visitors  of  his  distinguished 
appearance  and  manner  being  rather  uncommon.  Those 
who  usually  had  business  with  the  great  Grubbs  were  of  a 
different  type  altogether, — some  of  them  discarded  valets 
or  footmen,  who  came  to  gain  half  a  crown  or  five  shillings 
by  offering  information  as  to  the  doings  of  their  late  mas- 
ters and  mistresses, — shabby  "  supers  "  from  the  theatres, 
•who  had  secured  the  last  bit  of  scandal  concerning  some 
celebrated  stage  or  professional  "  beauty  " — spurting  men 
and  turf  gamblers  of  the  lowest  class, — unsuccessful  dram- 
atists and  small  verse  writers — these,  with  now  and  then  a 
few  "  ladies  " — ladies  of  the  bar-room,  "ballet,  and  demi- 
monde, were  the  sort  of  persons  who  daily  sought  private 
converse  with  Grubbs — and  Beau  Lovelace,  with  his  mas- 
sive head,  fine  muscular  figure,  keen  eyes,  and  self-assertive 
mien,  was  quite  a  novel  specimen  of  manhood  for  the  won- 
dering observation  of  the  office-boy,  who  scrambled  off  his 
high  chair  with  haste  and  something  of  respect  as  he  said — 
"  What  name,  sir,  please  ?  " 

"  Beaufort  Lovelace,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  bland 
smile.  "  Here  is  my  card.  Ask  Mr.  Grubbs  whether  he 
can  see  me  for  a  few  minutes.  If  he  is  engaged — editors 
generally  are  engaged — tell  him  I'll  wait." 

The  boy  went  off  in  a  greater  hurry  than  ever.  The 
name  of  Lovelace  was  quite  familiar  to  him — he  knew  him, 
not  as  a  distinguished  novelist,  but  as  "  'im  who  makes 
such  a  precious  lot  of  money."  And  he  was  breathless 
with  excitement  when  he  reached  the  small  editorial  cham- 
ber at  the  top  of  a  dark,  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  wherein 
sat  the  autocratic  Snawley,  smiling  suavely  over  a  heap  of 
letters  and  disordered  MSS.  He  glanced  at  the  card  which 
his  ink-smeared  attendant  presented  him. 

"  Ah,  indeed !  "  he  said  condescendingly.  "  Lovelace — • 
Lovelace  ?  Oh  yes — I  suppose  it  must  be  the  novelist  of 
that  name — yes  ! — show  him  up." 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY,  453 

Shown  up  he  was  accordingly.  He  entered  the  room 
with  a  firm  tread,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him  1 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  sir ! "  exclaimed  Grubbs 
warmly.  "  You  are  well  known  to  me  by  reputation  1  I 
am  charmed — delighted  to  make  the  personal  acquaintance 
of  one  who  is — yes — let  me  sa}r,  who  is  a  brother  in  litera- 
ture !  Sit  down,  I  beg  of  you  I " 

And  he  waved  his  hand  towards  a  chair,  thereby  display- 
ing the  great  rings  that  glittered  on  his  podgy  fingers. 

Beau,  however,  did  not  seat  himself — he  only  smiled  very 
coldly  and  contemptuously. 

"  We  can  discuss  the  fraternal  nature  of  our  relationship 
afterwards,"  he  said  satirical!}'.  "  Business  first.  Pray, 
sir, — here  he  drew  from  his  pocket  the  last  number  of  the 
Snake — u  are  you  the  writer  of  this  paragraph  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  it,  as  he  flattened  the  journal  and  laid  it  in 
front  of  the  editor  on  the  desk.  Mr.  Snawley-Grubbs 
glanced  at  it  and  smiled  unconcernedly. 

"  No  I  am  not.  But  I  happen  to  know  it  is  perfectly 
correct.  I  received  the  information  on  the  highest — the 
very  highest  and  most  credible  authority." 

"  Indeed !  "  and  Beau's  lip  curled  haughtily,  while  his 
hand  clenched  the  riding-whip  more  firmly.  "  Then  allow 
me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  it  is  utterly  false  in  ever}r  particular 
— moreover — that  it  is  a  gross  libel, — published  with  delib- 
erate intent  to  injure  those  whom  it  presumes  to  mention, 
— and  that,  whoever  wrote  it, — you,  sir,  you  alone  are  re- 
sponsible for  a  most  mischievous,  scandalous,  and  damnable 
lie ! " 

Mr.  Grubbs  was  in  no  wise  disconcerted.  Honest  indig- 
nation honestly  expressed,  always  amused  him — he  was 
amused  now. 

"  You're  unduly  excited,  Mr.  Lovelace,"  he  said  with  a 
little  laugh.  "  Permit  me  to  remark  that  3rour  language  is 
rather  extraordinary — quite  too  strong  under  the  circum- 
stances !  However,  3rou're  a  privileged  person — genius  is 
always  a  little  mad,  or  shall  we  sa3r, — eccentric? —  I  sup- 
pose you  are  a  friend  of  Sir  Philip  Errington,  and  you 
naturally  feel  hurt — yes — yes,  I  quite  understand  1  But 
the  scourge  of  the  press — the  wholesome,  purifying  scourge, 
cannot  be  withheld  out  of  consideration  for  private  or  per- 
sonal feelings.  No — no  I  There's  a  higher  duty — the  duty 
we  owe  to  the  public  1 " 


454  THELMA. 

"I. tell  you  again,"  repeated  Lovelace  firmly — "the 
whole  thing  is  a  lie.  Will  yon  apologize  ?  " 

Mr.  Grubbs  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed 
aloud. 

"  Apologize  ?  My  dear  sir,  you  must  be  dreaming ! 
Apologize  ?  Certainly  not !  I  cannot  retract  the  state- 
ments I  have  made — and  I  firmly  believe  them  to  be  true. 
And  though  there  is  a  saying, '  the  greater  the  truth  the 
greater  the  libel,'  I'm  ready,  sir,  and,  always  have  been 
ready,  to  sacrifice  myself  to  the  cause  of  truth.  Truth, 
truth  for  ever  1  Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil !  You 
are  at  liberty  to  inform  Sir  Philip  Errington  from  me,  that 
as  it  is  my  object — a  laudable  and  praiseworthy  one,  too,  I 
think — to  show  up  the  awful  immorality  now  reigning  in 
our  upper  classes,  I  do  not  regret  in  the  least  the  insertion 
of  the  paragraph  in  question.  If  it  only  makes  him 
ashamed  of  his  vices,  I  shall  have  done  a  good  deed,  and 
served  the  interests  of  society  at  large.  At  the  same  time, 
if  he  wishes  to  bring  an  action  for  libel " 

"  You  dog  1  "  exclaimed  Lovelace  fiercely,  approaching 
him  with  such  a  sudden  rapid  stride  that  the  astonished 
editor  sprang  up  and  barricaded  himself  behind  his  own 
chair.  "  You  hope  for  that,  do  you?  An  action  for  libel! 
nothing  would  please  you  better !  To  bring  your  scanda- 
lous printed  trash  into  notoriety, — to  hear  your  name 
shouted  by  dirty  hawkers  and  newsboys — to  be  sentenced 
as  a  first-class  misdemenent ;  ah,  no  such  luck  for  you  !  I 
know  the  tricks  of  your  vile  trade  !  There  are  other  ways 
of  dealing  with  a  vulgar  bully  and  coward !  " 

And  before  the  startled  Grubbs  could  realize  his  posi- 
tion, Lovelace  closed  with  him,  bent  him  under,  and  struck 
the  horsewhip  smartly  cross  his  back  and  shoulders.  He 
uttered  a  yell  of  pain  and  fury,  and  strove  vigorously  to 
defend  himself,  but,  owing  to  his  obesity,  his  muscles  were 
weak  and  flabby,  and  he  was  powerless  against  the  activity 
and  strength  of  his  opponent.  Lash  after  lash  descended 
regularly  and  mercilessly — his  cries,  which  gradually  be- 
came like  the  roarings  of  a  bull  of  Bashan,  were  unheard, 
as  the  office-boy  below,  profiting  by  a  few  idle  moments, 
had  run  across  the  street  to  buy  some  chestnuts  at  a  stall 
he  particularly  patronized.  Beau  thrashed  on  with  increas- 
ing enjoyment — Grubbs  resisted  him  less  and  less,  till 
finally  he  slipped  feebly  down  on  the  floor  and  grovelled 
there,  gasping  and  groaning.  Beau  gave  him  one  or  two 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  455 

more  artistic  cuts,  and  stood  above  him,  with  the  serene, 
triumphant  smile  of  a  successful  athlete.  Suddenly  a  loud 
peal  of  laughter  echoed  from  the  doorway, — a  woman  stood 
there,  richly  dressed  in  silk  and  fur,  with  diamonds  spark- 
ling in  her  ears  and  diamonds  clasping  the  long  boa  at  her 
throat.  It  was  Violet  Vere. 

"  Why,  Snawley !  "  she  cried  with  cheerful  familiarity. 
"  How  are  you  ?  All  broken,  and  no  one  to  pick  up  the 
pieces  !  Serve  you  right !  Got  it  at  last,  eh  ?  Don't  get 
up  !  You  look  so  comfortable  !  " 

"  Bodily  assault,"  gasped  Grubbs.  "  I'll  summons — call 
the  police — call,"  his  voice  died  awa}'  in  inarticulate  gur- 
glings, and  raising  himself,  he  sat  up  on  the  floor  in  a  suf- 
ficiently abject  and  ludicrous  posture,  wiping  the  tears  o/ 
pain  from  his  eyes.  Beau  looked  at  the  female  intruder 
and  recognized  her  at  once.  He  saluted  her  with  cold 
courtesy,  and  turned  again  to  Grubbs. 

"  Will  you  apologize  ? " 

"No— I— I  won't!" 

Beau  made  another  threatening  movement — Miss  Vere 
interposed. 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  her  insolent 
eyes,  in  which  lurked,  however,  an  approving  smile.  "  I 
don't  know  who  you  are,  but  you  seem  a  fighting  man  1 
Don't  go  at  him  again  till  I've  had  a  word.  I  say,  Grubbs  I 
you've  been  hitting  at  me  in  your  trashy  paper." 

Grubbs  still  sat  on  the  floor  groaning. 

"  You  must  eat  those  words,"  went  on  the  Vere  calmly. 
"  Eat  'em  np  with  sauce  for  dinner.  The  'admired  actress 
well  known  at  the  Brilliant,'  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Bruce-Errington  man, — not  she  1  He's  a  duffer,  a  regular 
stiff  one — no  go  about  him  anyhow.  And  what  the  deuce 
do  you  mean  by  calling  me  an  offending  dama.  Keep 
your  oaths  to  yourself,  will  you  ?  " 

Beau  Lovelace  was  amused.  Grubbs  turned  his  water- 
ing eye  from  one  to  the  other  in  wretched  perplexity.  He 
made  an  effort  to  stand  up  and  succeeded. 

"  I'll  have  you  arrested,  sir  ?  "  he  exclaimed  shaking  his 
fists  at  Beau,  and  quivering  with  passion,  "  on  a  charge  of 
bodily  assault — shameful  bodily  assault,  sir !  " 

"  All  right !  "  returned  Beau  coolly.  "  If  I  were  fined  a 
hundred  pounds  for  it,  I  should  think  it  cheap  for  the  lux- 
ury of  thrashing  such  a  hound  !  " 

Grubbs  quaked  at  the  determined  attitude  and  threaten- 


456  THELMA. 

ing  eye  of  bis  assailant,  and  turned  for  relief  to  Miss  Vere, 
whose  smile,  however,  was  not  sympathetic. 

"  You'd  better  cave  in  !  "  she  remarked  airily.  "  You've 
got  the  worst  of  it,  you  know  !  " 

She  had  long  been  on  confidential  terms  with  the  Snake 
proprietor,  and  she  spoke  to  him  now  with  the  candor  of  an 
old  friend. 

"  Dear  me,  what  do  you  expect  of  me  1 "  he  almost  whim- 
pered. "  I'm  not  to  blame  !  The  paragraph  was  inserted 
without  my  knowledge  by  my  sub-editor — he's  away  just 
now,  and — there!  why?"  he  cried  with  sudden  defiance, 
"  why  don't  you  ask  Sir  Francis  Lennox  about  it  ?  He 
wrote  the  whole  thing." 

"  Well,  he's  dead,"  said  Miss  Yere  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness. "  So  it  wouldn't  be  much  use  asking  him.  He  can't 
answer, — you'll  have  to  answer  for  him." 

'•  I  don't  believe  it  1  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Grubbs.  "  He  can't 
be  dead  I " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  can,  and  he  is,"  retorted  Yiolet.  "  And  a 
good  job  too!  He  was  knocked  over  by  a  train  at  Charing 
Cross.  You'll  see  it  in  to-day's  paper,  if  you  take  the 
trouble  to  look.  And  mind  you  contradict  all  that  stuff 
about  me  in  your  next  number — do  you  hear  ?  I'm  going 
to  America  with  a  Duke  next  month,  and  I  can't  afford  to 
have  my  reputation  injured.  And  I  won't  be  called  a 
'  dama '  for  any  penny-a-liner  living."  She  paused,  and 
again  broke  out  laughing,  "  Poor  old  Snawley  I  You  do 
look  so  sore !  Ta-ta  !  "  And  she  moved  towards  the  door. 
Lovelace,  alwa3rs  courteous,  opened  it  for  her.  She  raised 
her  hard,  bright  e3Tes,  and  smiled. 

"  Thanks !     Hope  I  shall  see  you  again  some  day  !  " 

"  You  are  very  good  1 "  responded  Beau  gravely. 

Either  his  tone,  which  was  one  chill  indifference,  or  some- 
thing in  his  look,  irritated  her  suddenly — for  a  rush  of  hot 
color  crimsoned  her  face,  and  she  bit  her  lips  vexedly  as 
she  descended  the  office-stairs. 

"  He's  one  of  your  high-and-mighty  sort,"  she  thought 
disdainfully,  as  she  entered  her  cosy  brougham  and  was 
driven  away.  "  Quite  too  awfully  moral  I  "  She  pulled  a 
large,  elaborately  cut  glass  scent-bottle  out  of  the  pocket  of 
her  cloak,  and,  unscrewing  the  gold  top,  applied  it,  not  to 
her  nose  but  her  mouth.  It  contained  neat  Cognac — and 
she  drank  a  goodly  gulp  of  it  with  evident  relish,  swallow- 
ing  a  scented  bon-bon  immediately  afterwards  to  take  away 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  457 

the  suspicions  odor.  "  Yes — quite  too  awfully  moral  1 " 
she  repeated  with  a  grin.  "  Not  in  my  line  at  all !  Lord  ! 
It's  lucky  there  are  not  many  such  fellows  about,  or  what 
would  become  of  me  ?  A  precious  poor  business  I  should 
make  of  it !  " 

Meanwhile,  Lovelace,  left  alone  again  with  Mr.  Grubbs, 
reiterated  his  demand  for  an  apology.  Grubbs  made  a  rush 
for  the  door,  as  soon  as  Miss  Vere  had  gone,  with  the  full 
intention  of  summoning  the  police,  but  Beau  coolly  placed 
his  back  against  it  with  resolute  firmness,  and  flourished 
his  whip  defiantly. 

"  Come,  sir,  none  of  this  nonsense  !  "  he  said  sternly.  "  I 
don't  mean  to  leave  this  spot  till  I  have  satisfaction.  If 
Sir  Francis  Lennox  wrote  that  scandalous  paragraph  the 
greater  rascal  he, — and  the  more  shame  to  you  for  insert- 
ing it.  You;  who  make  it  j'our  business  to  know  all  the 
dirty  alleys  and  dark  corners  of  life,  must  have  known  his 
character  pretty  thoroughly.  There's  not  the  slightest  ex- 
cuse for  you.  Will  yon  apologize  ? — and  retract  every 
word  of  that  paragraph,  in  your  next  issue  ?  " 

Grubbs,  breathless  with  rage  and  fear,  glared  at  him,  but 
made  no  answer. 

"  If  you  refuse  to  comply,"  went  on  Beau  deliberately, 
balancing  the  horsewhip  lightly  on  his  hand,  "  I'll  just  tell 
you  what  the  consequences  will  be.  I've  thrashed  you 
once — and  I'll  thrash  you  again.  I  have  only  to  give  the 
cue  to  several  worthy  fellows  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
don't  care  how  much  they  pay  for  their  fun,  and  each  of 
them  in  turn  will  thrash  you.  As  for  an  action  for  libel, 
don't  expect  it — but  I  swear  there  shan't  be  a  safe  corner  in 
London  for  you.  If,  however,  you  publish  next  week  a 
full  retraction  of  your  printed  lie — why,  then  I — shall  be 
only  too  happy  to  forget  that  such  an  individual  as  your- 
self burdens  this  planet.  There  are  the  two  alternatives — 
choose ! 

Grubbs  hesitated,  but  coward  fear  made  him  quail  with, 
the  prospect  of  unlimited  thrashings. 

-t  Very  well,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  Write  what  you  want 
put  in — I'll  attend  to  it — I  don't  mind  obliging  Miss  Yere. 
But  all  the  same,  I'll  have  you  arrested  !  " 

Beau  laughed.  "  Do  so  by  all  means !  "  he  said  gaily. 
"  I'll  leave  my  address  with  you  !  "  He  wrote  rapidly  a 
few  lines  on  a  piece  of  paper  to  the  following  effect — 

We  have  to  entirely  contradict  a  statement  we  made 


458  THELMA. 

last  week  respecting  a  supposed  forthcoming  divorce  case, 
in  which  Sir  Philip  Bruce-Errington  was  seriously  impli- 
cated. There  was  no  truth  whatever  in  the  statement,  and 
we  herewith  apologize  most  humbly  &n(l  heartily  for  having 
inadvertently  given  credence  to  a  rumor  which  is  now 
proved  to  be  utterly  false  and  without  the  slightest  shadow 
of  a  foundation." 

He  handed  this  to  Grubbs. 

"  Insert  that  word  for  word,  at  the  head  of  your  para- 
graphs," he  said,  "  and  you'll  hear  no  more  of  me,  unless 
you  give  me  fresh  provocation.  And  I  advise  you  to  think 
twice  before  you  have  me  arrested — for  I'll  defend  my  own 
case,  and — ruin  you  !  I'm  rather  a  dangerous  customer  to 
have  much  to  do  with  !  However,  you've  got  my  card — 
you  know  where  to  find  me  if  you  want  me.  Only  you'd 
better  send  after  me  to-night  if  you  do — to-morrow  I  may 
be  absent." 

He  smiled,  and  drew  on  his  gloves  leisurely,  eyeing  mean- 
while the  discomfited  editor,  who  was  furtively  rubbing 
his  shoulder  where  the  lash  had  stung  it  somewhat 
severely. 

"  I'm  exceedingly  glad  I've  hurt  you,  Mr.  Grubbs,"  he 
said  blandly.  "  And  the  next  time  you  want  to  call  me 
your  brother  in  literature,  pray  reflect  on  the  manner  in 
which  my  fraternal  affection  displayed  itself  1  Good  morn- 
ing!" 

And  he  took  his  departure  with  a  quiet  step  and  serene 
manner,  leaving  Snawley-Grubbs  to  his  own  meditations, 
which  were  far  from  agreeable.  He  was  not  ignorant  of 
the  influence  Beau  Lovelace  possessed,  both  on  the  press 
and  in  society — he  was  a  general  favorite, — a  man  whose 
opinions  were  quoted,  and  whose  authority  was  accepted 
everywhere.  If  he  appeared  to  answer  a  charge  of  assault 
against  Grubbs,  and  defended  his  own  case,  he  certainly 
would  have  the  best  of  it.  He  might — he  would  have  to 
pay  a  fine,  but  what  did  he  care  for  that  ?  He  would  hold 
up  the  Snake  and  its  proprietor  to  the  utmost  ridicule  and 
opprobrium — his  brilliant  satire  and  humor  would  carry  all 
before  it — and  he,  Snawley-Grubbs,  would  be  still  more 
utterly  routed  and  humiliated.  Weighing  all  these  con- 
siderations carefully  in  his  mind,  the  shrinking  editor  de- 
cided to  sit  down  under  his  horsewhipping  in  silence  and 
resignation. 

It  was  not  a  very  lofty  mode  of  action — still,  it  was  the 


THE  LAND  OF  MOCKERY.  459 

safest.  Of  course  Violet  Yere  would  spread  the  story  all 
through  her  particular  "set," — it  made  him  furious  to  think 
of  this — 3ret  there  was  no  help  for  it.  He  would  play  the 
martyr,  he  thought — the  martyr  to  the  cause  of  truth, — 
the  injured  innocent  entrapped  by  false  information — he 
might  possibly  gain  new  supporters  and  sympathizers  in 
this  way  if  he  played  his  cards  carefully.  He  turned  to 
the  daily  paper,  and  saw  there  chronicled  the  death  of  Sir 
Francis  Lennox.  It  ivas  true,  then.  Well !  he  was  not  at 
all  affected  by  it — he  merely  committed  the  dead  man  in 
the  briefest  and  strongest  language  to  the  very  lowest  of 
those  low  and  sulphurous  regions  over  which  Satan  is  sup- 
posed to  have  full  sway.  Not  a  soul  regretted  Sir  Francis 
— not  even  the  Vere,  whom  he  had  kept  and  surrounded 
with  every  luxury  for  five  years.  Only  one  person,  a  fair, 
weary  faced  woman  away  in  Germany  shed  a  few  tears  over 
the  lawyer's  black-boardered  letter  that  announced  his  death 
to  her — and  this  was  the  deserted  wife, — who  had  once  loved 
him.  Lady  Winsleigh  had  heard  the  news, — she  shuddered 
and  turned  very  pale  when  her  husband  gently  and  almost 
pityingly  told  her  of  the  sudden  and  unprepared  end  that 
had  overtaken  her  quondam  admirer — but  she  said  nothing. 
She  was  presiding  at  the  breakfast-table  for  the  first  time 
in  many  years — she  looked  somewhat  sad  and  listless,  yet 
lovelier  so  than  in  all  the  usual  pride  and  assertive  arrogance 
of  her  beauty.  Lord  Winsleigh  read  aloud  the  brief  ac- 
count of  the  accident  in  the  paper — she  listened  dreamily, 
— stiK  mute.  He  watched  her  with  3rearning  eyes. 

"  An  awful  death  for  such  a  man,  Clara  1  "  he  said  at  last 
in  a  low  tone. 

She  dared  not  look  up — she  was  trembling  nervously. 
How  dreadful  it  was,  she  thought,  to  be  thankful  that  a 
man  was  dead  ! — to  feel  a  relief  at  his  being  no  longer  in 
this  world !  Presently  her  husband  spoke  again  more  re- 
servedly. 

"  No  doubt  you  are  greatly  shocked  and  grieved,"  he 
said.  "  I  should  not  Lave  told  you  so  suddenly — pardon 
me!  " 

"  I  am  not  grieved,"  she  murmured  unsteadily.  "  It 
sounds  horrible  to  say  so — but  I — I  am  afraid  I  am  glad!  " 

"  Clara ! " 

She  rose  and  came  tremblingly  towards  him.  She  knelt 
at  his  feet,  though  he  strove  to  prevent  her, — she  raised  her 
large,  dark  eyes,  full  of  dull  agony,  to  his. 


460  THELMA. 

"  I've  been  a  wicked  woman,  Harry,"  she  said,  with  a 
strange,  imploring  thrill  of  passion  in  her  voice.  "  I  am 
down — down  in  the  dust  before  you  !  Look  at  me — don't 
forgive  me — I  won't  ask  that — you  can't  forgive  me, — but 
pity  me ! " 

He  took  her  hands  and  laid  them  round  his  neck, — he 
drew  her  gently,  soothingly, — closer,  closer,  till  he  pressed 
her  to  his  heart. 

"  Down  in  the  dust  are  you  ?  "  he  whispered  brokenly. 
"  My  poor  wife  1  God  forbid  that  I  should  keep  you 
ihere  1 " 


BOOK  III. 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"They  have  the  night,  who  had,  like  us,  the  day — 
"We,  whom  day  binds,  shall  have  the  night  as  they — 
We,  from  the  fetters  of  the  light  unbound, 
Healed  of  our  wound  of  living,  shall  sleep  sound  !  " 

SWINBUENE. 

NIGHT  on  the  Altenfjord, — the  long,  long,  changeless 
night  of  winter.  The  sharp  snow-covered  crests  of  the 
mountains  rose  in  white  appeal  against  the  darkness  of  the 
sky, — the  wild  north  wind  tore  through  the  leafless  branches 
of  the  pine-forests,  bringing  with  it  driving  pellets  of  sting- 
ing hail.  Joyless  and  songless,  the  whole  landscape  lay  as 
though  frozen  into  sculptured  stone.  The  Sun  slept, — and 
the  Fjord,  black  with  brooding  shadows,  seemed  silently  to 
ask — where  ?  Where  was  the  great  king  of  Light  ? — the 
glorious  god  of  the  golden  hair  and  ruddy  countenance  ? — 
the  glittering  warrior  with  the  naming  shield  and  spear  in- 
vincible ?  Where  had  he  found  his  rest  ?  By  what  strange 
enchantment  had  he  fallen  into  so  deep  and  long  a  drowsi- 
ness. The  wind  that  had  rioted  across  the  mountains, 
rooting  up  great  trees  in  its  shrieking  career  northwards, 
grew  hushed  as  it  approached  the  Altenfjord — there  a  weird 
stillness  reigned,  broken  only  by  the  sullen  and  monoto- 
nous plash  of  the  invisible  waves  upon  the  scarcely  visible 
shore. 

A  few  tiny,  twinkling  lights  showed  the  irregular  outline 
of  Bosekop,  and  now  and  then  one  or  two  fishing-boats  with 
sable  sails  and  small  colored  lamps  at  mast  and  prow  would 
flit  across  the  inky  water  like  dark  messengers  from  another 
world  bound  on  some  mournful  errand.  Human  figures, 
more  shadowy  than  real,  were  to  be  seen  occasionally  mov- 
ing on  the  pier,  and  to  the  left  of  the  little  town,  as  the  eye 

(461) 


462  THELMA. 

grew  accustomed  to  the  moveless  gloom,  a  group  of  per- 
sons, like  ghosts  in  a  dream,  could  be  dimly  perceived, 
working  busily  at  the  mending  of  nets. 

Suddenly  a  strange,  unearthly  glow  flashed  over  the  som- 
bre scene, — a  rosy  radiance  deepening  to  brilliant  streaks 
of  fire.  The  dark  heavens  were  torn  asunder,  and  through 
them  streamed  flaring  pennons  of  light, — waving,  trem- 
bling, dancing,  luminous  ribbons  of  red,  blue,  green,  and  a 
delicious  amber,  like  the  flowing  of  golden  wine, — wider, 
higher,  more  dazzlingly  lustrous,  the  wondrous  glory  shone 
aloft,  rising  upward  from  the  horizon — thrusting  long 
spears  of  lambent  flame  among  the  murky  retreating  clouds, 
till  in  one  magnificent  coruscation  of  resplendent  beams  a 
blazing  arch  of  gold  leaped  from  east  to  west,  spanning  the 
visible  breath  of  the  Fjord,  and  casting  towards  the  white 
peaks  above,  vivid  sparkles  and  reflections  of  jewel-like 
brightness  and  color.  Here  was  surely  the  Rainbow  Bridge 
of  Odiri — the  glittering  pathway  leading  to  Valhalla ! 
Long  filmy  threads  of  emerald  and  azure  trailed  downwards 
from  it,  like  ropes  of  fairy  flowers,  binding  it  to  the  earth — 
above  it  hung  a  fleece-like  nebulous  whiteness, — a  canopy 
through  which  palpitated  sudden  flashes  of  amethyst. 
Then,  as  though  the  arch  were  a  bent  bow  for  the  hand  of 
some  heavenly  hunter,  crimson  beams  darted  across  it  in 
swift  succession,  like  arrows  shot  at  the  dark  target  of  the 
world.  Round  and  round  swept  the  varying  circles  of  color 
— now  advancing — now  retreating — now  turning  the  sullen 
waters  beneath  into  a  quivering  mass  of  steely  green — now 
beating  against  the  snow-covered  hills  till  they  seemed  pin- 
nacles of  heaped-up  pearls  and  diamonds.  The  whole  land- 
scape was  transformed, — and  the  shadowy  cluster  of  men 
and  women  on  the  shore  paused  in  their  toil,  and  turned 
their  pale  faces  towards  the  rippling  splendor, — the  heavy 
fishing-nets  drooping  from  their  hands  like  dark  webs  woven 
by  giant  spiders. 

"  'Tis  the  first  time  we  have  seen  the  Arch  of  Death  this 
year,"  said  one  in  awed  accents. 

"  Ay,  ay  !  "  returned  another,  with  a  sigh.  "  And  some 
one  is  bound  to  cross  it,  whether  he  will  or  no.  'Tis  a  sure 
sign !  " 

"  Sure !  "  they  all  agreed,  in  hushed  voices  as  faint  and 
far-off  as  the  breaking  of  the  tide  against  the  rocks  on  the 
opposite  coast. 

As  they  spoke,  the  fairy-like  bridge  in  the  sky  parted 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  463 

asunder  and  vanished  !  The  brilliant  aurora  borealis  faded 
by  swift  degrees — a  few  moments,  and  the  land  was  again 
enveloped  in  gloom. 

It  might  have  been  midnight — yet  by  the  clock  it  was  but 
four  in  the  afternoon.  Dreary  indeed  was  the  Altenfjord, 
— yet  the  neighboring  village  of  Talvag  was  even  drearier. 
There,  desolation  reigned  supreme — it  was  a  frozen  region 
of  bitter,  shelterless  cold,  where  the  poverty-stricken  inhab- 
itants, smitten  by  the  physical  torpor  and  mental  stupefac- 
tion engendered  by  the  long,  dark  season,  scarcely  stirred 
out  of  their  miserable  homes,  save  to  gather  extra  fuel. 
This  is  a  time  in  Norway,  when  beyond  the  Arctic  Circle, 
the  old  gods  yet  have  sway — when  in  spite  of  their  persist- 
ent, sometimes  fanatical,  adherence  to  the  strictest  forms  of 
Christianity,  the  people  almost  unconsciously  revert  to  the 
superstitions  of  their  ancestors.  Gathering  round  the  blaz- 
ing pine-logs,  they  recount  to  one  another  in  low  voices  the 
ancient  legends  of  dead  and  gone  heroes, — and  listening  to 
the  yell  of  the  storm-wind  round  their  huts,  they  still  fancy 
they  hear  the  wild  war-cries  of  the  Valkyries  rushing  past 
at  full  gallop  on  their  coal-black  steeds,  with  their  long  hair 
floating  behind  them. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  the  appearance  of  the 
"  Death- Arch,"  as  they  called  that  special  form  of  the 
aurora,  had  impressed  the  Talvig  folk  greatly.  Some  of 
them  were  at  the  doors,  and,  regardless  of  the  piercing 
cold,  occupied  themselves  in  staring  languidly  at  a  reindeer 
sledge  which  stood  outside  one  of  the  more  distant  huts, 
evidently  waiting  for  some  person  within.  The  hoofs  of 
the  animals  made  no  impression  on  the  hardened  snow — 
now  and  again  they  gently  shook  the  tinkling  bells  on  their 
harness,  but  otherwise  were  very  patient.  The  sledge  was 
in  charge  of  a  youthful  Laplander — a  hideous,  stunted  spec- 
imen of  humanity,  who  appeared  to  be  literally  sewed  up 
from  head  to  foot  in  skins. 

This  corttge  was  evidently  an  object  of  curiosity, — the 
on-lookers  eyed  it  askance,  and  with  a  sort  of  fear.  For 
did  it  not  belong  to  the  terrible  bonde,  Olaf  Giildmar  ? — 
and  would  not  the  Laplander, — a  useful  boy,  well  known  in 
Talvig, — come  to  some  fatal  harm  by  watching,  even  for  a 
few  minutes,  the  property  of  an  acknowledged  pagan?  Who 
could  tell  ?  The  very  reindeer  might  be  possessed  by  evil 
spirits, — they  were  certainly  much  sleeker  and  finer  than  the 
ordinary  run  of  such  animals.  There  was  something  un- 


464  TRELMA. 

canny  in  the  very  look  of  them  1  Thus  the  stupe^fied,  unrea- 
soning Talvig  folk  muttered,  one  to  another,  leaning  drowsily 
out  of  their  half-open  doors. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  thing,"  said  one  man,  "  that  woman  as 
strong  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  as  Lovisa  Elsland  should 
call  for  one  of  the  wicked  to  visit  her  on  her  death-bed." 

"  Strange  enough  !  "  answered  his  neighbor,  blinking  over 
his  pipe,  and  knocking  down  some  of  the  icicles  pendent 
from  his  roof.  "  But  maybe  it  is  to  curse  him  with  the  un- 
dying curse  of  the  godly." 

"  She's  done  that  all  her  life,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"  That's  true  1  She's  been  a  faithful  servant  of  the  Gos- 
pel. All's  right  with  her  in  the  next  world — she'll  die 
easity." 

"  Was  it  for  her  the  Death-Arch  shone  ?  "  asked  an  old 
woman,  suddenly  thrusting  her  head,  wrapped  in  a  red 
woollen  hood,  out  of  a  low  doorway,  through  which  the 
light  of  a  fire  sparkled  from  the  background,  sending  vivid 
flashes  across  the  snow. 

The  man  who  had  spoken  last  shook  his  head  solemnly. 

"  The  Death-Arch  never  shone  for  a  Christian  yet,"  he 
said  gravely.  "  No  !  There's  something  else  in  the  wind. 
We  can't  see  it — but  it  will  come — it  must  come  1  That 
sign  never  fails." 

And  presently,  tired  of  watching  the  waiting  sledge 
and  the  passive  Laplander,  he  retreated  within  his  house, 
shutting  his  door  against  the  darkness  and  the  bitter 
wind.  His  neighbors  followed  his  example, — and,  save 
for  two  or  three  red  glimmers  of  light  here  and  there, 
the  little  village  looked  as  though  it  had  been  deserted 
long  ago — a  picture  of  frost-bound  silence  and  solitude. 

Meanwhile,  in  Lovisa  Elsland's  close  and  comfortless 
dwelling,  stood  Olaf  Giildmar.  His  strong,  stately  figure, 
wrapped  in  furs,  seemed  almost  to  fill  the  little  place — he 
had  thrown  aside  the  thick  scarf  of  wadmel  in  which  he 
had  been  wrapped  to  the  eyes  while  driving  in  the  teeth  of 
the  wind, — and  he  now  lifted  his  fur  cap,  thus  displaying 
his  silvery  bair,  ruddy  features,  and  open,  massive  brow. 
At  that  moment  a  woman  who  was  busying  herself  in  put- 
ting fresh  pine-logs  on  the  smouldering  fire,  turned  and  re- 
garded him  intently. 

"  Lord,  Lord  1  "  she  muttered — "  'tis  a  man  of  men, — he 
rejoiceth  in  his  strength,  even  as  the  lion, — and  of  what 


THE  LAND  OF  TSE  LONG  SHADOW.  465 

avail  shall  the  curse  of  the  wicked  avail  against  the  soul 
that  is  firmly  established  !  " 

Giildmar  heard  her  not — he  was  looking  towards  a  low 
pallet  bed,  on  which  lay,  extended  at  full  length,  an  ap- 
parently insensible  form. 

"  Has  she  been  long  thus  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Since  last  night,"  replied  the  woman — no  other  than 
Mr.  Dyceworthy's  former  servant,  Ulrika.  "  She  wakened 
suddenly,  and  bade  me  send  for  you.  To-day  she  has  not 
spoken." 

The  bonde  sighed  somewhat  impatiently.  He  approached 
the  now  blazing  pine-logs,  and  as  he  drew  off  his  thick  fur 
driving-gloves,  and  warmed  his  hands  at  the  cheerful  blaze, 
Ulvika  again  fixed  her  dull  eyes  upon  him  with  something 
of  wonder  and  reluctant  admiration.  Presently  she  trimmed 
an  oil-lamp  and  set  it,  burning  dimly,  on  the  table.  Then 
she  went  to  the  bed  and  bent  over  it, — after  a  pause  of  sev- 
eral minutes,  she  turned  and  made  a  beckoning  sign  with 
her  finger.  Giildmar  advanced  a  little, — when  a  sudden 
eldritch  shriek  startled  him  back,  almost  curdling  the  blood 
in  his  veins.  Out  of  the  deep  obscurity,  like  some  gaunt 
spectre  rising  from  the  tomb,  started  a  face,  wrinkled,  ca- 
daverous, and  distorted  by  suffering, — a  face  in  which  the 
fierce,  fevered  eyes  glittered  with  a  strange  and  dreadful 
brilliancy — the  face  of  Lovisa  Elsland,  stern,  forbidding, 
and  already  dark  with  the  shadows  of  approaching  death. 
She  stared  vacantly  at  Giildmar,  whose  picturesque  head 
was  illumined  by  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  fire — and  feebly 
shaded  her  eyes  as  though  she  saw  something  that  hurt 
them.  Ulrika  raised  her  on  her  tumbled  pillow,  and  say- 
ing, in  cold,  unmoved  tones — "  Speak  now,  for  the  time  is 
short,"  she  once  more  beckoned  the  bonde  imperatively. 

He  approached  slowly. 

"  Lovisia  Elsland,"  he  began  in  distinct  tones,  address- 
ing himself  to  that  ghastly  countenance  still  partly  shaded 
by  one  hand.  "  I  am  here — Olaf  Giilmar.  Dost  thou  know 
me?" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  a  strange  spasm  contorted  the 
withered  features  of  the  dying  woman.  She  bent  her  head 
as  though  to  listen  to  some  far-off  echo,  and  held  up  her 
skinny  finger  as  though  enjoining  silence. 

"  Know  thee  I "  she  babbled  whisperinglj-.  "  How 
should  I  not  know  the  brown-haired  Olaf!  Olaf  of  the 
merry  eye — Olaf,  the  pride  of  the  Norse  maiden  ? "  She 
30 


±66  THELMA. 

lifted  herself  in  a  more  erect  attitude,  and  stretching  out 
her  lean  arms,  went  on  as  though  chanting  a  monotonous 
recitative.  "  Olaf,  the  wanderer  over  wild  seas, — he  comes 
and  goes  in  his  ship  that  sails  like  a  white  bird  on  the 
sparkling  waters — long  and  silent  are  the  days  of  his  ab- 
sence— mournful  are  the  Fjelds  and  Fjords  without  the 
smile  of  Olaf— Olaf  the  King  I  " 

She  paused,  and  Giildmar  regarded  her  in  pitying  won- 
der. Her  face  changed  to  a  new  expression — one  of  wrath 
and  fear. 

"  Stay,  stay  !  "  she  cried  in  penetrating  accents.  "  Who 
comes  from  the  South  with  Olaf?  The  clouds  drive  fast 
before  the  wind — clouds  rest  on  the  edge  of  the  dark 
Fjord — sails  red  as  blood  flash  against  the  sky — who  comes 
with  Olaf?  Fair  hair  ripples  against  his  breast  like  stream- 
ing sunbeams ;  eyes  blue  as  the  glitter  of  the  northern 
lights,  are  looking  upon  him — lips  crimson  and  heavy  with 
kisses  for  Olaf — ah  1  "  She  broke  off'  with  a  cry,  and  beat 
the  air  with  her  hands  as  though  to  keep  some  threatening 
thing  away  from  her.  "  Back,  back  !  Dead  bride  of  Olaf, 
torment  me  no  more — back,  I  say  !  See," — and  she  pointed 
into  the  darkness  before  her — "  The  pale,  pale  face — the 
long  glittering  hair  twisted  like  a  snake  of  gold, — she 
glides  along  the  path  across  the  mountains, — the  child  fol- 
lows ! — the  child !  Why  not  kill  the  child  as  well — why 
not  ? " 

She  stopped  suddenly  with  a  wild  laugh.  The  bonde  had 
listened  to  her  ravings  with  something  of  horror,  his  ruddy 
cheeks  growing  paler. 

"  By  the  gods,  this  is  strange ! "  he  muttered.  "  She 
seems  to  speak  of  my  wife, — yet  what  can  she  know  of 
hei  ?  " 

For  some  moments  there  was  silence.  Lovisa  seemed  to 
have  exhausted  her  strength.  Presently,  however,  she  put 
aside  her  straggling  white  hairs  from  her  forehead,  and  de- 
manded fiercely — 

"  Where  is  my  grandchild  f     Where  is  Bntta  ?  " 

Neither  Guldmar  nor  Ulrika  made  any  reply.  But 
Britta's  name  recalled  the  old  woman  to  herself,  and  when 
she  spoke  again  it  was  quite  collectedly,  and  in  her  usual 
harsh  voice.  She  seemed  to  forget  all  that  she  had  just 
uttered,  for  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  bonde,  as  though 
she  had  but  then  perceived  him. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  467 

"  So  }rou  are  come,  Olaf  Giildmar  I "  she  said.  "  It  is 
well, — for  the  hand  of  Death  is  upon  me." 

"  It  is  well,  indeed,  if  I  can  be  of  service,  Lovisa  Els- 
land,''  responded  Giildmar,  "  though  I  am  but  a  sorry  con- 
soler, holding,  as  I  do,  that  death  is  the  chief  blessing,  and 
in  no  way  to  be  regretted  at  any  time.  Moreover,  when 
the  body  grows  too  weak  to  support  the  soul,  'tis  as  well  to 
escape  from  it  with  what  speed  we  may." 

"  Escape — escape  ?  Where  ?  "  asked  Lovisa.  "  From 
the  worm  that  dieth  not  ?  From  the  devouring  flame  that 
is  .never  quenched?  From  the  torturing  thirst  and  heat 
and  darkness  of  hell,  who  shall  escape  ?  " 

"  Nay,  if  that  is  all  the  comfort  thy  creed  can  give 
thee,"  said  the  bonde,  with  a  half-smile,  "  'tis  but  a  poor 
staff  to  lean  on !  " 

Lovisa  looked  at  him  mockingly.  "  And  is  thine  so 
strong  a  prop  to  thy  pride  ?  "  she  asked  disdainfully.  "  Has 
Odin  so  endowed  thee  that  thou  shouldst  boast  of  him  ? 
Listen  to  me,  Olaf  Giildmar — I  have  but  little  strength  re- 
maining, and  I  must  speak  briefly.  Thy  wife 

"  What  of  her  ?  "  said  the  bonde  hastily.  "  Thou  knew- 
est  her  not." 

"  I  knew  her,"  said  Lovisa  steadily,  "  as  the  lightning 
knows  the  tree  it  withers — as  the  sea  knows  the  frail  boat 
it  wrecks  for  sport  on  a  windy  day.  Thou  haughty  Olaf  1 
I  knew  her  well  even  as  the  broken  heart  knows  its  de- 
stroyer 1  " 

Giildmar  looked  perplexedly  at  TJlrika.  "  Surely  she 
raves  again  ?  "  he  said.  Ulrika  was  silent. 

"  Rave  ?  Tell  him  I  do  not  rave !  "  cried  Lorisa  rising  in 
her  bed  to  utter  her  words  with  more  strength  and  empha- 
sis. "  May  be  I  have  raved,  but  that  is  past !  The  Lord, 
who  will  judge  and  condemn  my  soul,  bear  witness  that  I 
speak  the  truth  !  Olaf  Giildmar,  rememberest  thou  the  days 
when  we  were  young  ?  " 

"  'Tis  long  ago,  Lovisa  !  "  replied  the  bonde  with  brief 
gentleness. 

"  Long  ago  ?  It  seems  but  yesterday !  But  yesterday  I 
saw  the  world  all  radiant  with  hope  and  joy  and  love — love 

that  to  you  was  f\  mere  pastime — but  with  me She 

shuddered  and  seemed  to  lose  herself  in  a  maze  of  dreary 
recollections.  "  Love  !  "  she  presently  muttered — "  '  love  is 
strong  as  death, — jealousy  is  cruel  as  the  grave — the  coals 
thereof  are  coals  of  fire  which  hath  a  most  vehement  flame  I  ' 


468  THELMA. 

Even  so !  You,  Olaf  Giildmar,  have  forgotten  what  I  re* 
member, — that  once  in  that  yesterday  of  youth,  you  called 
me  fair, — once  your  lips  branded  mine  !  Could  I  forget  that 
kiss  ?  Think  you  a  Norse  woman,  bred  in  a  shadow  of  the 
constant  mountains,  forgets  the  first  thrill  of  passion  waked 
in  her  soul  ?  Light  women  of  those  lands  where  the  sun 
ever  shines  on  fresh  follies,  may  count  their  loves  by  the 
score, — but  with  us  of  the  North,  one  love  suffices  to  fill  a 
lifetime.  And  was  not  my  life  filled  ?  Filled  to  overflowing 
with  bitterness  and  misery!  For  I  loved  you,  proud  Olaf! 

— I  loved  you "  The  bonde  uttered  an  exclamation  of 

incredulous  astonishment.  Lovisa  fixed  her  eyes  on  him 
with  a  dark  scorn.  "  Yes,  I  loved  you, — scoffer  and  unbe- 
liever as  you  were  and  are  ! — accursed  of  God  and  man  !  I 
loved  you  in  spite  of  all  that  was  said  against  you — nay,  I 
would  have  forsaken  my  creed  for  yours,  and  condemned 
my  soul  to  the  everlasting  burning  for  your  sake  I  I  loved 
you  as  she — that  pale,  fair,  witch-like  thing  you  wedded, 
could  never  love —  Her  voice  died  away  in  a  sort  of 

despairing  wail,  and  she  paused. 

"  By  my  soul !  "  said  the  bonde,  astounded,  and  stroking 
his  white  beard  in  some  embarrassment.  "  I  never  knew 
of  this  !  It  is  true  that  in  the  hot  days  of  3'outh,  mischief 
is  often  done  unwittingly.  But  why  trouble  yourself  with 
these  memories,  Lovisa  ?  If  it  be  any  comfort, — believe  me, 
I  am  sorry  harm  ever  came  to  you  through  my  thoughtless 
jesting " 

"  It  matters  not !  "  and  Lovisa  regarded  him  with  a 
strange  and  awful  smile.  "  I  have  had  my  revenge  1  "  She 
stopped  abruptly, — then  went  on — "  'Twas  a  fair  bride  you 
chose,  Olaf  Giildmar — child  of  an  alien  from  these  shores, — 
Thelraa,  with  the  treacherous  laughter  and  light  of  the 
South  in  her  ej'es  and  smile !  And  I,  who  had  known  love, 

made  friends  with  hate "  She  checked  herself,  and 

looked  full  at  the  bonde  with  a  fiendish  joy  sparkling  in  her 
eyes.  "  She  whom  you  wedded — she  whom  you  loved  so 
well, — how  soon  she  died  ! '' 

There  was  something  so  suggestive  and  dreadful  in  the 
expression  of  her  face  as  she  said  this,  that  the  stout  heart 
of  the  old  bonde,  pulsated  more  quickly  with  a  sudden 
vague  distrust  and  dread.  She  gave  him  no  time  to  speak, 
but  la}Ting  one  3*ellow,  claw-like  hand  on  his  arm,  and  rais- 
ing her  voice  to  a  sort  of  yell,  exclaimed  triumphantly — 

"  Yes,  yes  !  how  soon  she  died  !  Bravely,  bravely  done ! 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.       469 

And  no  one  ever  guessed  the  truth — no  one  ever  knew  I 
killed  her  !  " 

Giildmar  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  shook  himself  free  from 
her  touch.  In  the  same  instant  his  hand  flew  to  the  hilt  of 
the  hunting-knife  in  his  girdle. 

"  Killed  her  !  By  the  gods " 

Ulrika  sprang  before  him.  "  Shame  !  "  she  cried  sternly. 
"  She  is  dying  !  " 

"  Too  slowly  for  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  bonde  furiously. 

"  Peace — peace !  "  implored  Ulrika.     "  Let  her  speak  !  " 

"  Strike,  Olaf  Giildmar  !  "  said  Lovisa,  in  a  deep  voice, 
harsh,  but  all  untremulous — "  Strike,  pagan,  with  whom 
the  law  of  blood  is  supreme, — strike  to  the  very  center  of 
my  heart — I  do  not  fear  you  !  I  killed  her,  I  say — and 
therein  I,  the  servant  of  the  Lord,  was  justified  !  Think 
you  that  the  Most  High  hath  not  commanded  His  elect  to 
utterly  destroy  and  trample  underfoot  their  enemies  ? — and 
is  not  vengeance  mine  as  well  as  thine,  accursed  slave  of 
Odin  ?  " 

A  spasm  of  pain  here  interrupted  her — she  struggled 
violently  for  breath — and  Ulrika  supported  her.  Giildmar 
stood  motionless,  white  with  restrained  fury,  his  eyes  blaz- 
ing. Recovering  by  slow  degrees,  Lovisa  once  more  spoke 
— her  voice  was  weaker,  and  sounded  a  long  way  off. 

"  Yea,  the  Lord  hath  been  on  my  side  !  "  she  said,  and  the 
hideous  blasphemy  rattled  in  her  throat  as  it  was  uttered. 
"  Listen — and  hear  how  He  delivered  mine  enemy  into  my 
hands.  I  watched  her  always — I  followed  her  man}'  and 
many  a  time,  though  she  never  saw  me.  I  knew  her  favor- 
ite path  across  the  mountains, — it  led  past  a  rocky  chasm. 
On  the  edge  of  that  chasm  there  was  a  broad,  flat  stone, 
•and  there  she  would  sit  often,  reading,  or  watching  the  fish- 
ing-boats on  the  Fjord,  and  listening  to  the  prattle  of  her 
child.  I  used  to  dream  of  that  stone,  and  wonder  if  I 
could  loosen  it !  It  was  strongly  imbedded  in  the  earth — 
but  each  day  I  went  to  it — each  day  I  moved  it !  Little  by 
little  I  worked — till  a  mere  touch  would  have  set  it  hurling 
downwards, — yet  it  looked  as  firm  as  ever."  Giildmar  ut- 
tered a  fierce  ejaculation  of  anguish — he  put  one  hand  to 
his  throat  as  though  he  were  stifling.  Lovisa,  watching 
him,  smiled  vindictively,  and  continued — 

"  When  I  had  done  all  I  could  do,  I  lay  in  wait  for  her, 
hoping  and  praying — my  hour  came  at  last !  It  was  a 
bright  sunny  morning — a  little  bird  had  been  twittering 


470  THELMA. 

above  the  very  place — as  it  flew  away,  she  approached — a 
book  was  in  her  hand, — her  child  followed  her  at  some  little 
distance  off.  Fortune  favored  me — a  cluster  of  pansies 
had  opened  their  blossoms  a  few  inches  below  the  stone, — 
she  saw  them, — and,  light  as  a  bird,  sprang  on  it  and 
reached  forward  to  gather  them — ah  !  " — and  the  wretched 
woman  clapped  her  hands  and  broke  into  malignant  laugh- 
ter— "  I  can  hear  her  quick  shriek  now — the  crash  of  the 
stones  and  the  crackle  of  branches  as  she  fell  down, — down 
to  her  death !  Presently  the  child  came  running, — it  was 
too  young  to  understand — it  sat  down  patiently  waiting 
for  its  mother.  How  I  longed  to  kill  it !  but  it  sang  to  it- 
self like  the  bird  that  had  flown  away,  and  I  could  not ! 
But  she  was  gone — she  was  silent  for  ever — the  Lord  be 
praised  for  all  His  mercies !  Was  she  smiling,  Olaf  Giild- 
mar,  when  you  found  her — dead  ?  " 

A  strange  solemnity  shadowed  the  bonders  features.  He 
turned  his  eyes  upon  her  steadily. 

"  Blessing  and  honor  be  to  the  gods  of  my  fathers !  "  he 
said — "  I  found  her — living  !  " 

The  change  that  came  over  Lovisa's  face  at  these  words 
was  inexpressibly  awful — she  grew  livid  and  her  lips 
twitched  convulsively. 

"  Living — living  !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Living  !  "  repeated  Giildmar  sternly.  "  Vile  hag  ! 
Your  purpose  was  frustrated  1  Your  crime  destroyed  her 
beauty  and  shortened  her  days — but  she  lived — lived  for 
ten  sweet,  bitter  years,  hidden  away  from  all  eyes  save 
mine, — mine  that  never  grew  tired  of  looking  in  her  pa- 
tient, heavenly  face !  Ten  years  I  held  her  as  one  holds  a 
jewel — and,  when  she  died,  her  death  was  but  a  falling 
asleep  in  these  fond  arms 

Lovisa  raised  herself  with  a  sharp  cry,  and  wrung  her 
hands  together — 

"  Ten  years — ten,  years !  "  she  moaned.  "  I  thought  her 
dead — and  she  lived  on, — beloved  and  loving  all  the  while. 
Oh  God,  God,  why  hast  thou  made  a  mockery  of  Thy  serv- 
ant 1 "  She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro — then  looked  up 
with  an  evil  smile.  "  Nay,  but  she  suffered!  That  was 
best.  It  is  worse  to  suffer  than  to  die.  Thank  God,  she 
suffered  !  " 

"  Ay,  she  suffered!"  said  Giildmar  fiercely,  scarce  able 
to  restrain  himself  from  seizing  upon  the  miserable  old 
woman  and  shaking  the  sinking  life  out  of  her — "  And  had 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  471 

I  but  guessed  who  caused  her  sufferings,  by  the  sword  of 
Odin,  I  would  have " 

Ulrika  laid  her  hand  on  his  suddenly  upraised  arm. 

"  Listen  I  "  she  whispered.  A  low  wailing,  like  the  cry 
of  a  distressed  child,  swept  round  and  round  the  house, 
followed  by  a  gust  of  wind  and  a  clattering  shower  of  hail- 
stones. A  strange  blue  light  leaped  up  from  the  sparkling 
log  fire,  and  cast  an  unearthly  glow  through  the  room.  A 
deep  stillness  ensued. 

Then — steady  and  clear  and  resonant — a  single  sound 
echoed  through  the  air,  like  a  long  note  played  on  an  ex- 
ceedingly sweet  silver  trumpet.  It  began  softly — swelled 
to  a  crescendo — then  died  delicately  away.  Giildmar 
raised  his  head — his  face  was  full  of  rapt  and  expectant 
gravity, — his  action,  too,  was  somewhat  singular,  for  he 
drew  the  knife  from  his  girdle  and  kissed  the  hilt  solemnly, 
returning  it  immediately  to  its  sheath.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment Lovisa  uttered  a  loud  crj',  and  flinging  the  coverings 
from  her,  strove  to  rise  from  her  bed.  Ulrika  held  her 
firmly, — she  struggled  feebly  yet  determinedly,  gazing  the 
while  with  straining,  eager,  glassy  eyes  into  the  gloom  of 
the  opposite  corner. 

"  Darkness — darkness !  "  she  muttered  hoarsely, — "  and 
the  white  faces  of  dead  things !  There — there  they  lie ! 
— all  still,  at  the  foot  of  the  black  chasm — their  mouths 
move  without  sound — what — what  are  they  saying?  I 
cannot  hear — a-sk  them  to  speak  louder — louder  !  Ah  1 " 
and  she  uttered  a  terrified  scream  that  made  the  rafters 
ring.  "  They  move  ! — they  stretch  out  their  hands — cold, 
cold  hands ! — they  are  drawing  me  down  to  them — down — 
down — to  that  darkness !  Hold  me — hold  me !  don't  let 
me  go  to  them — Lord,  Lord  be  merciful  to  me — let  me  live 

— live "  Suddenly  she  drew  back  in  deadly  horror, 

gesticulating  with  her  tremulous  lean  hands  as  though  it 
shut  away  the  sight  of  some  loathsome  thing  unveiled  to 
her  view.  "  Who  is  it  " — she  asked  in  an  awful,  shudder- 
ing whisper — '"  who  is  it  that  says  there  is  no  hell  ?  I  see 
it !  "  Still  retreating  backwards,  backwards — the  clammy 
dew  of  death  darkening  her  affrighted  countenance, — she 
turned  her  glazing  eyes  for  the  last  time  on  Giildmar. 
Her  lips  twitched  into  a  smile  of  dreadful  mockery. 

"  May — thy  gods — reward  thee — Olaf  Giildmar — even — 
as  mine — are — rewarding — me  !  " 

And  with  these  words,  her  head  dropped  heavily  on  her 


472  THELMA. 

breast.  Ulrika  laid  her  back  on  her  pillow,  a  corpse.  The 
stern,  cruel  smile  froze  slowly  on  her  dead  features — 
gradually  she  became,  as  it  were, a  sort  of  ancient  cenotaph, 
carved  to  resemble  old  age  combined  with  unrepenting 
evil — the  straggling  white  hair  that  rested  on  her  wrinkled 
forehead  looking  merely  like  snow  fallen  on  sculptured 
stone. 

"  Good  Lord,  have  mercy  on  her  soul !  "  murmured 
Ulrika  piously,  as  she  closed  the  upward  staring  eyes,  and 
crossed  the  withered  hands. 

"  Good  devil,  claim  thine  own  !  "  said  Giildmar,  with 
proudly  lifted  arm  and  quivering,  disdainful  lips.  u  Thou 
foolish  woman  !  Thinkest  thou  thy  Lord  makes  place  for 
murderers  in  His  heaven?  If  so,  'tis  well  I  am  not  bound 
there !  Only  the  just  can  tread  the  pathway  to  Valhalla, — 
'tis  a  better  creed  !  " 

Ulrika  looked  at  his  superb,  erect  figure  and  loft}-  head, 
and  a  strangely  anxious  expression  flitted  across  her  dull 
countenance. 

"  Nay,  bonde,  we  do  not  believe  that  the  Lord  accepteth 
murderers,  without  they  repent  themselves  of  their  back- 
slidings, — but  if  with  penitence  they  turn  to  Him  even  at 
the  eleventh  hour,  haply  they  may  be  numbered  among  the 
elect." 

Giildmar's  eyes  flashed.  "  I  know  not  thy  creed,  woman, 
nor  care  to  learn  it  I  But,  all  the  same,  thou  art  deceived 
in  thy  vain  imaginings.  The  Eternal  Justice  cannot  err — 
call  that  justice  Christ  or  Odin  as  thou  wilt.  I  tell  you, 
the  soul  of  the  innocent  bird  that  perishes  in  the  drifting 
snow  is  near  and  dear  to  its  Creator — but  the  tainted  soul 
that  had  yonder  vile  body  for  its  tenement,  was  but  a  flame 
of  the  evil  one,  and  accursed  from  the  beginning, — it  must 
return  to  him  from  whom  it  came.  A  heaven  for  such  as 
she  ?  Nay — rather  the  lowest  circle  of  the  furthest  and 
fiercest  everlasting  fires — and  thither  do  I  commend  her ! 
Farewell !  " 

Rapidly  muffling  himself  up  in  his  wraps,  he  strode  out 
of  the  house.  He  sprang  into  his  sledge,  throwing  a 
generous  gratuity  to  the  small  Laplander  who  had  taken 
charge  of  it,  and  who  now  ventured  to  inquire — 

"  Has  the  good  Lovisa  left  us  ?  " 

Giildmar  burst  into  a  hard  laugh.  "  Good!  By  my 
soul !  The  folks,  of  Talvig  take  up  murderers  for  saints 
and  criminals  for  guides  I  'Tis  a  wild  world  I  Yes — she 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  473 

has  gone — where  all  such  blessed  ones  go — to — heaven  !  " 
He  shook  his  clenched  fist  in  the  air— then  hastily  gather- 
ing up  the  reins,  prepared  to  start. 

The  Lapp,  after  the  manner  of  his  race,  Tras  easily 
frightened,  and  cowered  back,  terrified  at  the  bonders 
menacing  gesture  and  fierce  tone, — but  quickly  bethinking 
himself  of  the  liberal  fee  he  clutched  in  his  palm,  he  volun- 
teered a  warning  to  this  kingly  old  man  with  the  streaming 
white  hair  and  beard,  and  his  keen  eyes  that  were  already 
fixed  on  the  dark  sweep  of  the  rough,  uneven  road  winding 
towards  the  Altenfjord. 

"There  is  a  storm  coming,  Jarl  G  \ildmar!  "he  stam- 
mered. 

Giildmar  turned  his  head.  "  ^Vhy  call  me  Jarl  ?  "  he  de- 
manded half  angrily.  "  'Tis  a  name  I  wear  not." 

He  touched  the  reindeer  lightly  with  his  long  whip — the 
sensitive  beast  started  and  sprang  forward. 

Once  more  the  Lapp  exclaimed,  with  increased  excite- 
ment and  uncouth  gestures — 

"  Storm  is  coming ! — wide — dark,  deep  !  See  how  the  sky 
stoops  Tv-ith  the  hidden  snow  1  " 

He  pointed  to  the  north,  and  there,  low  on  the  horizon, 
was  a  lurid  red  gleam  like  a  smouldering  fire,  while  just 
above  it  a  greenish  blackness  of  cloud  hung  heavy  and 
motionless.  Towards  the  central  part  of  the  heaven  two  or 
three  stars  shone  with  frosty  brightness,  and  through  a  few 
fleec}'  ribbons  of  gre}'ish  mist  limmered  the  uncertain 
promise  of  a  faint  moon. 

Giildmar  smiled  slightly.  "  Storm  coming  ? "  he  answered 
almost  gaily.  "  That  is  well !  Storm  and  I  are  old  friendsj 
my  lad  1  Good  night !  " 

Once  more  he  touched  his  horned  steeds,  and  with  a 
jingle-jangle  of  musical  bells  and  a  scudding,  slippery  hiss- 
ing across  the  hard  snow,  the  sledge  sped  off  with  fairy- 
like  rapidity,  and  in  a  few  moments  its  one  little  guiding 
lantern  disappeared  in  the  darkness  like  a  suddenly  extin- 
guished candle. 

The  Lapp  stood  pondering  and  gazing  after  it,  with  the 
bonders  money  in  his  palm,  till  the  cold  began  to  penetrate 
even  his  thick  skin-clothing  and  his  fat  little  body,  well 
anointed  with  whale-oil  though  it  was, — and  becoming 
speedily  conscious  of  this,  he  scampered  with  extraordinary 
agility,  considering  the  dimensions  of  his  snow-shoes,  into 
the  hut  where  he  had  his  dwelling,  relating  to  all  who 


474  THELMA. 

choose  to  hear,  the  news  of  old  Lovisa  Elsland's  death,  and 
the  account  of  his  brief  interview  with  the  dreaded  but 
generous  pagan. 

Ulrika,  watching  by  the  corpse  of  her  aged  friend,  was 
soon  joined  by  others  bent  on  sharing  her  vigil,  and  the 
house  was  presently  filled  with  woman's  religious  waitings 
and  prayers  for  the  departed.  To  all  the  curious  inquiries 
that  were  made  concerning  the  cause  of  Lovisa's  desire  to 
see  the  bonde  before  she  died,  Ulrika  vouchsafed  no  reply, 
— and  the  villagers,  who  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  her  as 
a  woman  of  singular  godliness  and  discreet  reputation,  soon 
refrained  from  asking  any  more  questions.  An  ambitious 
young  Lutheran  preacher  came,  and,  addressing  himself  to 
all  assembled,  loudly  extolled  the  superhuman  virtues  of 
the  dead  "  Mother  of  the  village,"  as  Lovisa  had  been 
called, — amid  the  hysterical  weeping  and  moaning  of  the 
mourners,  he  begged  them  to  look  upon  her  "  A-enerated 
lace  "  and  observe  "  the  smile  of  God's  own  peace  engraven 
there," — and  amid  all  his  eloquence,  and  the  shrieking  ex- 
citement of  his  fanatical  hearers,  Ulrika  alone  was  silent. 

She  sat  stern  and  absorbed,  with  set  lips  and  lowered  eye- 
lids at  the  head  of  the  bed  whereon  the  corpse  was  now 
laid  out,  grimly  rigid, — with  bound-up  jaws,  and  clasped 
fingers  like  stiff,  dried  bones.  Her  thoughts  dwelt  gloom- 
ily and  intently  on  Giildmar's  words — "  The  Eternal  Jus- 
tice cannot  err."  Eternal  Justice  !  What  sentence  would 
Eternal  Justice  pass  upon  the  crime  of  murder  ? — or 
attempt  to  murder  ?  "  I  am  guilty,"  the  unhappy  woman 
reflected,  with  a  strong  shudder  chilling  her  veins,  "  guilty 
even  as  Lovisa !  I  tried  to  kill  my  child — I  thought,  I 
hoped  it  was  dead  !  It  was  not  my  meaning  that  it  should 
live.  And  this  Eternal  Justice,  may  be,  will  judge  the  in- 
tention more  than  the  crime.  O  Lord,  Lord  !  save  my 
soul !  Teach  me  how  to  escape  from  the  condemning  fires 
of  Thine  anger  1  "  Thus  she  prayed  and  wrestled  witL  her 
accusing  self  in  secret — despair  and  fear  raging  in  her 
heart,  though  not  a  flicker  of  her  inward  agitation  betrayed 
itself  outwardly  on  her  stolid,  expressionless  features. 

Meanwhile  the  wind  rose  to  a  tearing,  thunderous  gale, 
and  the  night,  already  so  dark,  darkened  yet  more  visibly. 
Olaf  Giildmar,  driving  swiftly  homewards,  caught  the  first 
furious  gust  of  the  storm  that  came  rushing  onward  from 
the  North  Cape,  and  as  it  swooped  sideways  against  his 
light  sledge,  he  was  nearly  hurled  from  his  seat  by  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  475 

sudden  violence  of  the  shock.  He  settled  himself  more 
firmly,  encouraging  with  a  cheery  word  the  startled  rein- 
deer, who  stopped  short, — stretching  out  their  necks  and 
sniffing  the  air,  their  hairy  sides  heaving  with  the  strain  of 
trotting  against  the  blast,  and  the  smoke  of  their  breath 
steaming  upwards  in  the  frosty  air  like  white  vapor.  The 
way  lay  now  through  a  narrow  defile  bordered  with  tall 
pines, — and  as  the  terrified  animals,  recovering,  shook  the 
tinkling  bells  on  their  harness,  and  once-  more  resumed 
their  journey,  the  road  was  comparatively  sheltered,  and 
the  wind  seemed  to  sink  as  suddenly  as  -it  rose.  There  was 
a  hush — an  almost  ominous  silence. 

The  sledge  glided  more  slowly  between  the  even  lines  of 
upright  giant  trees,  crowned  with  icicles  and  draped  in 
snow, — the  bonde  involuntarily  loosened  the  reins  of  his 
elfin  steeds,  and  again  returned  to  those  painful  and  solemn 
musings,  from  which  the  stinging  blow  of  the  tempest  had 
for  a  moment  roused  him.  The  proud  heart  of  the  old  man 
ached  bitterly.  What !  All  these  years  had  passed,  and 
he,  the  descendant  of  a  hundred  Vikings,  had  been  cheated 
of  justice  !  He  had  seen  his  wife, — the  treasured  darling 
of  his  days,  suffering, — dying,  inch  by  inch,  year  by  year, 
with  all  her  radiant  beauty  withered, — and  he  had  never 
known  her  destroyer  !  Her  fall  from  the  edge  of  the  chasm 
had  been  deemed  by  them  both  an  accident,  and  yet — this 
wretched  Lovisa  Elsland — mad  with  misplaced,  disappointed 
passion,  jealousy,  and  revenge, — had  lived  on  to  the  ex- 
treme of  life,  triumphant  and  unsuspected. 

"  I  swear  the  gods  have  played  me  false  in  this !  "  he  mut- 
tered, lifting  his  e}res  in  a  sort  of  fierce  appeal  to  the 
motionless  pinetops  stiff  with  frost.  The  mystery  of  the 
old  hag's  hatred  of  his  daughter  was  now  made  clear — she 
resembled  her  mother  too  closely  to  escape  Lovisa 's  malice. 
He  remembered  the  curse  she  had  called  down  upon  the  in- 
nocent girl, — how  it  was  she  who  had  untiringly  spread 
abroad  the  report  among  the  superstitious  people  of  the 
place,  that  Thelma  was  a  witch  whose  presence  was  a 
blight  upon  the  land, — how  she  had  decoyed  her  into  the 
power  of  Mr.  Dyceworthy — all  was  plain — and,  notwith- 
standing her  deliberate  wickedness,  she  had  lived  her  life 
without  punishment !  This  was  what  made  Giildmar's 
blood  burn,  and  pulses  thrill.  He  could  not  understand 
wiry  the  Higher  Powers  had  permitted  this  error  of  justice, 
and,  like  many  of  his  daring  ancestors,  he  was  ready  to 


476  THELMA. 

fling  defiance  in  the  very  face  of  Odin,  and  demand^ 
"  Why, — 0  thou  drowsy  god,  nodding  over  thy  wine-cups, 
— why  didst  thou  do  this  thing  ?  r 

Utter  fearlessness, — bodily  and  spiritual, — fearlessness  of 
past,  present,  or  future,  life  or  death, — was  Giildmar's 
creed.  The  true  Norse  warrior  spirit  was  in  him — had  he 
been  told,  on  heavenly  authority,  that  the  lowest  range  of 
the  '  Nastrond  "  or  Scandinavian  Hell,  awaited  him,  he 
would  have  accepted  his  fate  with  unflinching  firmness. 
The  indestructibility  of  the  soul,  and  the  certainty  that  it 
must  outlive  even  centuries  of  torture,  and  triumph  glori- 
ously in  the  end,  was  the  core  of  the  faith  he  professed. 
As  he  glanced  upwards,  the  frozen  tree-tops,  till  then  rigidly 
erect,  swayed  slightly  from  side  to  side  with  a  crackling 
sound — but  he  paid  no  heed  to  this  slight  warning  of  a 
fresh  attack  from  the  combative  storm  that  was  gathering 
together  and  renewing  its  scattered  forces.  He  began  to 
think  of  his  daughter,  and  "the  grave  lines  on  his  face  re- 
laxed and  softened. 

"  'Tis  all  fair  sailing  for  the  child,"  he  mused.  "  For  that  I 
should  be  grateful  1  The  world  has  been  made  a  soft  nest 
for  my  bird, — I  should  not  complain, — my  own  time  is 
short."  His  former  anger  .calmed  a  little — the  brooding 
irritation  of  his  mind  became  gradually  soothed. 

"  Rose  of  my  heart  1 "  he  whispered,  tenderly  apostrophiz- 
ing the  memory  of  his  wife, — that  lost  jewel  of  love,  whose 
fair  bod}T  lay  enshrined  in  the  king's  tomb  by  the  Fjord. 
"  Wrongfully  done  to  death  as  thou  wert,  and  brief  time  as 
we  had  for  loving  ; — in  spite  of  thy  differing  creed,  I  feel 
that  I  shall  meet  thee  soon  1  Yes — in  the  woild  beyond 
the  stars,  they  will  bring  thee  to  me  in  Valhalla, — whereso- 
ever thou  art,  thou  wilt  not  refuse  to  come !  The  gods 
themselves  cannot  unfasten  the  ties  of  love  between  us !  " 

As  he  half  thought,  half  uttered,  these  words,  the  rein- 
deer again  stopped  abruptly,  rearing  their  antlered  heads 
and  panting  heavily.  Hark !  what  was  that  ?  A  clear, 
.far-reaching  note  of  music  seemingly  wakened  from  the 
waters  of  the  Fjord  and  rising  upwards,  upwards,  with  bell- 
like  distinctness !  Giildmar  leaned  from  his  motionless 
sledge  and  listened  in  awe — it  was  the  same  sound  he  had 
before  heard  as  he  stood  by  Lovisa  Elsland's  death-bed — 
and  was  in  truth  nothing  but  a  strong  current  of  wind 
blowing  through  the  arched  and  honeycombed  rocks  by  the 
sea,  towards  the  higher  land, — creating  the  same  effect  as 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  477 

though  one  should  breathe  forcibly  through  a  pipe-like  in- 
strument of  dried  and  hollow  reeds, — and  being  rendered 
more  resonant  by  the  intense  cold,  it  bore  a  striking  simi- 
larity to  the  full  blast  of  a  war-trumpet.  For  the  worship- 
per of  Odin,  it  had  a  significant  and  supernatural  meaning, 
— and  he  repeated  his  former  action — that  of  drawing  the 
knife  from  his  girdle  and  kissing  the  hilt.  "  If  Death  is 
near  me,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  bid  it  welcome  1  The 
gods  know  that  I  am  ready  1 " 

He  waited  as  though  expecting  some  answer — but  there 
was  a  brief,  absolute  silence.  Then,  with  a  wild  shriek  and 
riotous  uproar,  the  circling  tempest, — before  uncertain  and 
vacillating  in  its  wrath, — pounced,  eagle-like,  downward 
and  grasped  the  mountains  in  its  talons, — the  strong  pines 
rocked  backwards  and  forwards  as  though  bent  by  Hercu- 
lean hands,  crashing  their  frosted  branches  madly  together : 
— the  massive  clouds  in  the  sky  opened  and  let  fall  their 
burden  of  snow.  Down  came  the  large  fleecy  flakes,  twist- 
ing dizzily  round  and  round  in  a  white  waltz  to  the  whirl 
of  the  wind — faster — faster — heavier  and  thicker,  till  there 
seemed  no  clear  space  in  the  air.  Giildmar  urged  on  the 
reindeer,  more  anxious  for  their  safety  than  his  own — the 
poor  beasts  were  fatigued,  and  the  blinding  snow  confused 
them,  but  they  struggled  on  patiently,  encouraged  by  their 
master's  voice  and  the  consciousness  that  they  were  nearing 
home.  The  storm  increased  in  fury — and  a  fierce  gust  of 
frozen  sleet  struck  the  sledge  like  a  strong  hammer-stroke 
as  it  advanced  through  the  rapidly  deepening  snow-drifts — 
its  guiding  lantern  was  extinguished.  Giildmar  did  not 
stop  to  relight  it — he  knew  he  was  approaching  his  farm, 
and  he  trusted  to  the  instinct  and  sagacity  of  his  steeds. 

There  was  indeed  but  a  short  distance  to  go, — the 
narrow  wooded  defile  opened  out  on  two  roads,  one  leading 
direct  to  Bosekop — the  other,  steep  and  tortuous,  winding 
down  to  the  shore  of  the  Fjord — this  latter  passed  the 
bonders  gate.  Once  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  pines,  the  way 
would  be  more  distinctly  seen, — the  very  reindeer  seemed 
to  he  conscious  of  this,  for  they  trotted  more  steadily, 
shaking  their  bells  in  even  and  rhythmical  measure.  As 
they  neared  the  end  of  the  long  dark  vista,  a  sudden  bright- 
blue  glare  quivered  and  sprang  wave-like  across  the  snow 
— a  fantastic  storm-aurora  that  flashed  and  played  among 
the  feathery  falling  flakes  of  white  till  they  looked  like 
knots  and  closters  of  sparkling  jewels.  The  extreme  point 


478  THELNA. 

of  the  close  defile  was  reached  at  last,  and  here  the  land 
scape  opened  up  wide,  rocky  and  desolate — a  weird  picture, 
— with  the  heavy  clouds  above  repeatedly  stabbed  through 
and  through  by  the  needle-pointed  beams  of  the  aurora 
borealis, — and  the  blank  whiteness  of  the  ground  below. 
Just  as  the  heads  of  the  reindeer  were  turned  into  the 
homeward  road,  half  of  the  aurora  suddenly  faded,  leav- 
ing the  other  half  still  beating  out  its  azure  brilliance 
against  the  horizon.  At  the  same  instant,  with  abrupt 
swiftness,  a  dark  shadow, — so  dark  as  to  seem  almost 
palpable, — descended  and  fell  directly  in  front  of  the  ad- 
vancing sledge — a  sort  of  mist  that  appeared  to  block  the 
way. 

Giildmar  leaned  forward  and  gazed  with  eager,  straining 
eyes  into  that  drooping  gloom — a  shadow  ? — a  mere  vapor, 
with  the  Northern  Lights  glimmering  through  its  murky 
folds  ?  Ah  no — no !  For  him  it  was  something  very  dif- 
ferent,— a  heavenly  phantasm,  beautiful  and  grand,  with 
solemn  meaning  !  He  saw  a  Maiden,  majestically  tall,  of 
earnest  visage  and  imperial  mien, — her  long  black  hair 
streamed  loose  upon  the  wind — in  one  hand  she  held  a  shin- 
ing shield — in  the  other  a  lifted  spear  1  On  her  white 
brow  rested  a  glittering  helmet, — her  bosom  heaved 
beneath  a  corslet  of  pale  gold — she  fixed  her  divine,  dark 
eyes  full  upon  his  face  and  smiled  1  With  a  cry  of  wonder 
and  ecstacy  the  old  man  fell  back  in  his  sledge, — the  reins 
dropped  from  his  hands, — "  The  Valkyrie  1  the  Valkyrie  1 " 
he  exclaimed. 

A  mere  breathing  space,  and  the  shadow  vanished, — the 
aurora  '  came  out  again  in  unbroken  splendor — and  the 
reindeer,  feeling  no  restraint  upon  them,  and  terrified  by 
something  in  the  air,  or  the  ceaseless  glitter,  of  the  lights 
in  the  sky,  started  off  precipitately  at  full  gallop.  The 
long  reins  trailed  loosely  over  their  backs,  lashing  their 
sides  as  they  ran — Giildmar,  recovering  from  his  momen- 
tary awe  and  bewilderment,  strove  to  seize  them,  but  in 
vain.  He  called,  he  shouted, — the  frightened  animals  were 
utterly  beyond  control,  and  dashed  madly  down  the  steep 
road,  swinging  the  sledge  from  side  to  side,  and  entangling 
themselves  more  and  more  with  the  loose  reins,  till,  irritated 
beyond  endurance,  confused  and  blinded  by  the  flash  of  the 
aurora  and  the  dizzy  whirl  of  the  swiftly  falling  snow, 
they  made  straight  for  a  steep  bank, — and  before  the  bonde 
had  tjffl§  tQ  realize  tlie  situation  and  jump  from 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  479 

— crash  !  down  they  went  with  a  discordant  jangle  of  bells, 
their  hoofs  splitting  a  thin,  sharp  shelf  of  ice  as  they  leaped 
forward, — dragging  the  light  vehicle  after  them,  and  twist- 
ing it  over  and  over  till  it  was  a  mere  wreck, — and  throw- 
ing out  its  occupant  head  foremost  against  a  jagged  stone. 
Then  more  scared  than  ever,  they  strove  to  clamber  out 
of  the  gully  into  which  they  had  recklessly  sprung,  but, 
foiled  in  these  attempts,  they  kicked,  plunged,  and  reared, 
— trampling  heedlessly  over  the  human  form  lying  helpless 
among  the  shattered  fragments  of  the  sledge, — till  tired 
out  at  last,  they  stood  motionless,  panting  with  terror. 
Their  antlered  heads  cast  fantastic  patterns  on  the  snow 
in  the  varying  rose  and  azure  radiance  that  rippled  from 
the  waving  ribbons  of  the  aurora, — and  close  to  them,  his 
slowly  trickling  life-blood  staining  the  white  ground, — his 
hair  and  beard  glittering  in  the  light  like  frosted  silver, — 
his  eyes  fast  closed  as  though  he  slept, — lay  Olaf  Giildmar 
unconscious — dying.  The  spear  of  the  Yalkyrie  had 
fallen ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

u  Bnry  rae  not  when  I  am  dead — 
Lay  me  not  down  in  a  dusty  bed  ; 
I  could  not  bear  the  life  down  there, 
With  the  wet  worms  crawling  about  my  hair!  " 

ERIC  MACKAY. 

LONG  hours  passed,  and  the  next  day  dawned,  if  the  dim 
twilight  that  glimmered  faintly  across  the  Altenfjord  could 
be  called  a  dawn.  The  snow-fall  had  ceased, — the  wind  had 
sunk — there  was  a  frost-bound,  monotonous  calm.  The 
picturesque  dwelling  of  the  bonde  was  white  in  every  part, 
and  fringed  with  long  icicles, — icicles  drooped  from  its  shel- 
tering porch  and  gabled  windows — the  deserted  dove-cote 
on  the  roof  was  a  miniature  ice-palace,  curiously  festooned 
with  thin  threads  and  crested  pinnacles  of  frozen  snow. 
Within  the  house  there  was  silence, — the  silence  of  ap- 
proaching desolation.  In  the  room  where  Thelma  used  to 
sit  and  spin,  a  blazing  fire  of  pine  sparkled  on  the  walls, 
casting  ruddy  outward  flashes  through  the  frost-covered 
lattice-windows, — and  here,  towards  the  obscure  noon,  Olaf 
Giildmar  awoke  from  his  long  trance  of  insensibility.  He 
himself  at  borne,  stretched  gp  his  own  bed,  and 


480  THELMA. 

looked  about  him  vacantly.  In  the  earnest  and  watchful 
countenance  that  bent  above  his  pillow,  he  slowly  recognized 
his  friend,  companion,  and  servant,  Valdemar  Svensen,  and 
though  returning  consciousness  brought  with  it  throbs  of 
agonizing  pain,  he  strove  to  smile,  and  feebly  stretched  out 
his  hand.  Valdemar  grasped  it — kissed  it — and  in  spite  of 
his  efforts  to  restrain  his  emotion,  a  sigh,  that  was  almost  a 
groan,  escaped  him.  The  bonde  smiled  again, — then  lay 
quiet  for  a  few  moments  as  though  endeavoring  to  collect 
his  thought.  Presently  he  spoke — his  voice  was  faint  yet 
distinct. 

"•  What  has  happened,  Valdemar  ?  "  he  asked.  "  How  is 
it  that  the  strength  has  departed  from  me  ?  " 

Svensen  dropped  on  his  knees  by  the  bedside.  "  An  ac- 
cident, my  Lord  Olaf,"  he  began  falteringly. 

Giildmar's  eyes  suddenly  lightened.  "  Ah,  I  remember!  " 
he  said.  "  The  rush  down  the  valley — I  remember  all !  " 
He  paused,  then  added  gently, "  And  so  the  end  has  come, 
Valdemar ! " 

Svensen  uttered  a  passionate  exclamation  of  distress. 

"  Let  not  my  lord  say  so !  "  he  murmured  appealingly, 
with  the  air  of  a  subject  entreating  favor  from  a  king. 
"  Or,  if  it  must  be,  let  me  also  travel  with  thee  wherever 
thou  goest  ! " 

Olaf  Giildmar's  gaze  rested  on  him  with  a  musing  ten- 
derness. 

"  'Tis  a  far  journey,"  he  said  simply.  "  And  thou  art 
not  summoned."  He  raised  his  arm  to  test  its  force — for 
one  second  it  was  uplifted, — then  it  fell  powerless  at  his 
side.  "  I  am  conquered  !  "  he  went  on  with  a  cheerful  air. 
"  The  fight  is  over,  Valdemar  !  Surely  I  have  had  a  long 
battle,  and  the  time  for  rest  and  reward  is  welcome."  He 
was  silent  for  a  little,  then  continued,  "  Tell  me — how — 
where  didst  thou  find  me  ?  It  seems  I  had  a  dream,  strange, 
and  glorious — then  came  a  rushing  sound  of  wheels  and 
clanging  bells, — and  after  that,  a  long  deep  silence." 

Speaking  in  low  tones,  Valdemar  briefly  related  the 
events  of  the  past  night.  How  he  had  heard  the  reindeer's 
gallop  down  the  road,  and  the  quick  jangling  of  the  bells 
on  their  harness,  and  had  concluded  that  the  bonde  was  re- 
turning home  at  extraordinary  speed — ,how  these  sounds 
had  suddenly  and  unaccountably  ceased, — how,  after  wait- 
ing for  some  time,  and  hearing  nothing  more,  he  had  be- 
come greatly  alarmed,  and,  taking  a  pine-torch,  had  gone 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  481 

out  to  see  what  had  occurred, — how  he  had  found  the  rein- 
deer standing  by  the  broken  sledge  in  the  gully,  and  how, 
after  some  search,  he  had  finally  discovered  his  master,  ly- 
ing half-covered  by  the  snow,  and  grievously  injured.  How 
he  had  lifted  him  and  carried  him  into  the  house, 

"  By  my  soul!  "  interrupted  the  bonde  cheerfully,  "  thou 
must  have  found  me  no  light  weight,  Valdemar !  See 
what  a  good  thing  it  is  to  be  a  man — with  iron  muscles, 
and  strong  limbs,  and  hardy  nerve  !  By  the  Hammer  of 
Thor !  the  glorious  gift  of  strong  manhood  is  never  half  ap- 
preciated !  As  for  me — I  am  a  man  no  longer  !  " 

He  sighed  a  little,  and,  passing  his  sinewy  hand  across 
his  brow,  lay  back  exhausted.  He  was  racked  by  bodily 
torture,  but,— unflinching  old  hero  as  he  was, — gave  no 
sign  of  the  agonizing  pain  he  suffered.  Valdemar  Svensen 
had  risen  from  his  knees,  and  now  stood  gazing  at  him  with 
yearning,  miserable  eyes,  his  brown,  weather-beaten  visage 
heavily  marked  with  lines  of  grief  and  despair.  He  knew 
that  he  was  utterly  powerless — that  nothing  could  save  the 
noble  life  that  was  ebbing  slowly  away  before  him.  His 
long  and  varied  experience  as  a  sailor,  pilot,  and  traveller 
in  many  countries  had  given  him  some  useful  knowledge  of 
medicine  and  surgery,  and  if  anything  was  possible  to  be 
done,  he  could  do  it.  But  in  this  case  no  medical  skill 
would  have  been  availing — the  old  man's  ribs  were  crushed 
in  and  his  spine  injured, — his  death  was  a  question  of  but  a 
few  hours  at  the  utmost,  if  so  long. 

"  Olaf  the  King ! "  muttered  the  bonde  presently. 
"  True  I  They  make  no  mistakes  yonder, — they  know  each 
warrior  by  name  and  rank — 'tis  only  in  this  world  we  are 
subject  to  error.  This  world !  By  the  gods  !  .  .  .  'tis  but 
a  puff  of  thistle-down — or  a  light  mist  floating  from  the 
sunset  to  the  sea  1  " 

He  made  a  vigorous  attempt  to  raise  himself  from  his 
pillow — though  the  excruciating  anguish  caused  by  his 
movement,  made  him  wince  a  little  and  grow  paler. 

"  Wine,  Valdemar  !  Fill  the  horn  cup  to  the  brim  and 
bring  it  to  me — I  must  have  strength  to  speak — before  I 
depart — on  the  last  great  journey." 

Obediently  and  in  haste,  Svensen  filled  the  cup  he  asked 
for  with  old  Lacrima  Christi,  of  which  there  was  always  a 
supply  in  this  far  Northern  abode,  and  gave  it  to  him, 
watching  him  with  a  sort  of  superstitious  reverence  as  he, 
drained  off  its  contents  and  returned  it  empty, 


482  THELMA 

"  Ah  !  That  warms  this  freezing  blood  of  mine,"  he  said, 
the  lustre  flashing  back  into  his  eyes.  "  'Twill  find  fresh 
force  to  flow  a  brief  while  longer.  Valdemar — I  have  little 
time  to  spend  with  thee — I  feel  death  heref — and  he 
slightly  touched  his  chest — "  cold — cold  and  heavy.  'Tis 
nothing — a  passing,  chilly  touch  that  sweeps  away  the 
world  1  But  the  warmth  of  a  new,  strong  life  awaits  me — 
a  life  of  never-ending  triumph  1  The  doors  of  Yalhalla 
stand  wide  open — I  heard  the  trumpet-call  last  night. — I 
saw  the  dark-haired  Valkyrie  1  All  is  well — and  my  soul 
is  full  of  rejoicing.  Valdemar — there  is  but  one  thing  now 
thou  hast  to  do  for  me, — the  one  great  service  thou  hast 
sworn  to  render.  Fulfill  thine  oath  !  " 

Valdemar's  brown  cheek  blanched, — his  lips  quivered, — 
he  flung  up  his  hands  in  wild  appeal.  The  picturesque 
flow  of  his  native  speech  gained  new  fervor  and  eloquence 
as  he  spoke. 

"  Not  yet — not  yet,  my  lord  !  "  he  cried  passionately. 
"  Wait  but  a  little — there  is  time.  Think  for  one  moment 
— think  1  Would  it  not  be  well  for  my  lord  to  sleep  the 
last  sleep  by  the  side  of  his  beloved  Thelma — the  star  of 
the  dark  mountains — the  moonbeam  of  the  night  of  his 
life  ?  Would  not  peace  enwrap  him  there  as  with  a  soft 
garment,  and  would  not  his  rest  be  lulled  by  the  placid 
murmur  of  the  sea  ?  For  the  days  of  old  time  and  storm 
and  victory  are  past — and  the  dead  slumber  as  stones  in 
the  silent  pathways — why  would  my  lord  depart  in  haste 
as  though  he  were  wrathful,  from  the  land  he  has  loved  ? 
— from  the  vassal  who  implores  his  pardon  for  pleading 
against  a  deed  he  dares  not  do  !  " 

"  Dares  not— dares  not  1  "  cried  the  bonde,  springing  up 
half-erect  from  his  couch,  in  spite  of  pain,  and  looking  like 
some  enraged  old  lion  with  his  tossed,  streaming  hair  and 
glittering  eyes.  u  Serf  as  thou  art  and  coward !  Thinkest 
thou  an  oath  such  -as  thine  is  but  a  thread  of  hair,  to  be 
snapped  at  thy  pleasure?  Wilt  thou  brave  the  wrath  of 
the  gods  and  the  teeth  of  the  Wolf  of  Nastrond  ?  As  surely 
as  the  seven  stars  shine  on  the  white  brow  of  Thor,  evil 
shall  be  upon  thee  if  thou  refusest  to  perform  the  vow  thou 
hast  sworn  !  And  shall  a  slave  have  strength  to  resist  the 
dying  curse  of  a  King  ?  " 

The  pride,  the  supreme  authority, — the  magnified 
strength  of  command  that  flushed  the  old  man's  features, 
were  extraordinary  and  almost  terrible  in  their  impressive 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.       463 

grandeur.  If  he  indeed  believed  himself  by  blood  a  king 
and  a  descendant  of  kings, — he  could  not  have  shown  a 
more  forcible  display  of  personal  sovereignty.  The  effect  of 
his  manner  on  Valdemar  was  instantaneous, — the  super- 
stitious fears  of  that  bronzed  sea-wanderer  were  easily 
aroused.  His  head  drooped — he  stretched  out  his  hands  im- 
ploringly. 

"  Let  not  my  lord  curse  his  servant,"  he  faltered.  "  It 
was  but  a  tremor  of  the  heart  that  caused  my  tongue  to 
speak  foolishly.  I  am  ready — I  have  sworn — the  oath 
shall  be  kept  to  its  utmost  end  1  " 

Olaf  Giildmar's  threatening  countenance  relaxed,  and  he 
fell  back  on  his  pillows. 

"  It  is  well !  "  he  said  feebty  and  somewhat  indistinctly. 
"  Thy  want  of  will  maddened  me — I  spoke  and  lived  in 
times  that  are  no  more — days  of  battle — and — glory — that 
are  gone — from  men — for  ever.  More  wine,  Valdemar  ! — I 
must  keep  a  grip  on  this  slippery  life — and  yet — I  wan- 
der— wander  into  the — night " 

His  voice  ceased,  and  he  sank  into  a  swoon — a  swoon 
that  was  like  death.  His  breathing  was  scarcely  percepti- 
ble, and  Svensen,  alarmed  at  his  appearance,  forced  some 
drops  of  wine  between  his  set  lips,  and  chafed  his  cold 
hands  with  anxious  solicitude.  Slowly  and  very  gradu- 
alty  he  recovered  consciousness  and  intelligence,  and  pres- 
ently asked  for  a  pencil  and  paper  to  write  a  few  farewell 
words  to  his  daughter.  In  the  grief  and  bewilderment  of 
the  time,  Yaldemar  entirely  forgot  to  tell  him  that  a  let- 
ter from  Thelma  had  arrived  for  him  on  the  previous 
afternoon  while  he  was  away  at  Talvig, — and  was  even  now 
on  the  shelf  above  the  chimney,  awaiting  perusal.  Giild- 
mar,  ignorant  of  this,  began  to  write  slowly  and  with  firm- 
ness, disregarding  his  rapidly  sinking  strength.  Scarcely 
had  he  begun  the  letter,  however,  than  he  looked  up 
meaningly  at  Svensen,  who  stood  waiting  beside  him. 

"  The  time  grows  very  short,"  he  said  imperatively. 
"  Prepare  everything  quickly — go  !  Fear  not — I  shall 
live  to  see  thee  return — and  to  bless  thee  for  thy  faithful 
service." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  he  smiled  ; — and  with  one 
wistful,  yearning  look  at  him,  Valdemar  obediently  and  in- 
stantly departed.  He  left  the  house,  carding  with  him  a 
huge  pile  of  dry  brushwood,  and  with  the  air  of  a  man 
strung  up  tO'prompt  action,  rapidly  descended  the  sloping 


484  THELMA, 

path,  thick  with  hardened  snow,  that  led  downwards  to  the 
Fjord.  On  reaching  the  shore,  he  looked  anxiously  about 
him.  There  was  nothing  in  sight  but  the  distant,  twinkling 
lights  of  Bosekop — the  Fjord  itself  was  like  a  black  pool, 
— so  still  that  even  the  faintest  murmur  of  its  rippling 
against  the  bonders  own  private  pier  could  be  heard, — the 
tide  was  full  up. 

Out  of  the  reach  of  the  encroaching  waters,  high  and 
dry  on  the  beach,  was  Giildmar's  brig,  the  Valkyrie,  trans- 
formed by  the  fingers  of  the  frost  into  a  white  ship,  fantas- 
tically draped  with  threads  of  frozen  snow  and  pendent 
icicles.  She  was  placed  on  a  descending  plank,  to  which 
she  was  attached  by  a  chain  and  rope  pulley, — so  that  at 
any  time  of  the  weather  or  tide  she  could  be  moved  glid- 
ingly  downwards  into  deep  water — and  this  was  what 
Yaldemar  occupied  himself  in  doing.  It  was  a  hard  task. 
The  chains  were  stiff  with  the  frost, — but,  after  some 
patient  and  arduous  striving,  they  yielded  to  his  efforts, 
and,  with  slow  clank  and  much  creaking  complaint,  the 
vessel  slid  reluctantly  down  and  plunged  forward,  afloat  at 
last.  Holding  her  ropes,  Valclemar  sprang  to  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  pier  and  fastened  her  there,  and  then  getting  on 
board,  he  untied  and  began  to  hoist  the  sails.  This  was  a 
matter  of  the  greatest  difficulty,  but  it  was  gradual!}'  and 
successful^  accomplished ;  and  a  strange  sight  the  Valkyrie 
then  presented,  resting  nearly  motionless  on  the  black 
Fjord, — her  stretched  and  frosted  canvas  looking  like 
sheeted  pearl  fringed  with  silver, — her  masts  white  with 
encrusted  snow,  and  topped  with  pointed  icicles.  Leaving 
her  for  a  moment,  Valdemar  quickly  returned,  carrying  the 
pile  of  dry  brushwood  he  had  brought, — he  descended  with 
this  into  the  hold  of  the  ship,  and  returned  without  it. 
Glancing  once  more  nervously  about  him,  he  jumped  from 
the  deck  to  the  pier — thence  to  the  shore — and  as  he  did  so 
a  long  dark  wave  rolled  up  and  broke  at  his  feet.  The 
capricious  wind  had  suddenly  arisen, — and  a  moaning 
whisper  coming  from  the  adjacent  hills  gave  warning  of  an- 
other storm. 

Valdemar  hurriedly  retraced  his  steps  back  to  the  house, 
— his  work  with  the  Valkyrie  had  occupied  him  more  than 
an  hour — the  bonde,  his  friend  and  master,  might  have  died 
during  his  absence !  There  was  a  cold  sickness  at  his  heart 
— his  feet  seemed  heavy  as  lead,  and  scarcely  able  to  carry 
him  along  quickly  enough — to  his  credulous  and  visionary 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  485 

mind,  the  hovering  shadow  of  death  seemed  everywhere, — 
in  every  crackling  twig  he  brushed  against, — in  every 
sough  of  the  wakening  gale  that  rustled  among  the  bare 
pines.  To  his  intense  relief  he  found  Giildmar  lying  calmly 
back  among  his  pillows, — his  eyes  well  open  and  clear,  and 
an  expression  of  perfect  peace  upon  his  features.  He  smiled 
as  he  saw  his  servant  enter. 

"  All  is  in  readiness  ?  "  he  asked. 

Valdemar  bent  his  head  in  silent  assent. 

The  bonders  face  lightened  with  extraordinary  rapture. 

"  I  thank  thee,  old  friend  !  "  he  said  in  low  but  glad  ac- 
cents. "  Thou  knowest  1  could  not  be  at  peace  in  any 
other  grave.  I  have  suffered  in  thine  absence, — the  suffer- 
ings of  the  body  that,  being  }-et  strong  in  spite  of  age,  is 
reluctant  to  take  leave  of  life.  But  it  is  past  I  I  am  as  one 
numbed  with  everlasting  frost, — and  now  I  feel  no  pain. 
And  my  mind  is  like  a  bird  that  poises  for  a  while  over 
past  and  present,  ere  soaring  into  the  far  future.  There  are 
things  I  must  yet  say  to  thee,  Valdemar, — give  me  thy 
close  hearing,  for  my  voice  is  weak." 

Svensen  drew  closer,  and  ^tood  in  the  humble  attitude  of 
one  who  waits  a  command  from  some  supreme  chief. 

"  This  letter,"  went  on  the  old  man,  giving  him  a  folded 
paper,  "  is  to  the  child  of  my  heart,  my  Thelma.  Send  it 
to  her — when — I  am  gone.  It  will  not  grieve  her,  I  hope 
— for,  as  far  as  I  could  find  words,  I  have  expressed  therein 
nothing  but  joy — the  joy  of  a  prisoner  set  free.  Tell  her, 
that  with  all  the  strength  of  my  perishing  body  and  escap- 
ing soul,  I  blessed  her !  .  .  .  her  and  the  husband  in  whose 
arms  she  rests  in  safety.'*  He  raised  his  trembling  hands 
solemnly — "  The  gods  of  my  fathers  and  their  attendant 
spirits  have  her  young  life  in  their  glorious  keeping  ! — the 
joy  of  love  and  purity  and  peace  be  on  her  innocent  head 
ibr  ever !  " 

He  paused, — the  wind  wailed  mournfully  round  the  house 
£nd  shook  the  lattice  with  a  sort  of  stealthy  clatter,  like 
a  forlorn  wanderer  striving  to  creep  in  to  warmth  and 
shelter. 

' '  Here,  Valdemar,"  continued  the  londe  presently,  in 
fainter  accents,  at  the  same  time  handing  him  another 
paper.  "  Here  are  some  scrawled  lines — they  are  plainly 
set  forth  and  signed — which  make  thee  master  of  this  poor 
place  and  all  that  it  contains." 


486  THELMA. 

A  low,  choked  sob  broke  from  Valdemar's  broad  breast- 
he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Of  what  avail?"  he  murmured  brokenly.  "  When  my 
lord  departs,  I  am  alone  and  friendless  1  " 

The  bonde  regarded  him  with  kindly  pity. 

"  Tears  from  the  stout  heart  ?  "  he  inquired  with  a  sort 
of  grave  wonder.  "  Weep  for  life,  Valdemar — not  for 
death  1  Alone  and  friendless  ?  Not  while  the  gods  are  in 
heaven!  Cheei  thee — thou  art  strong  and  in  vigorous 
pride  of  manhood — why  should  not  bright  days  come  for 

thee "  He  broke  off  with  a  gasp — a  sudden  access  of 

pain  convulsed  him  and  rendered  his  breathing  difficult. 
By  sheer  force  of  will  he  mastered  the  cruel  agon}',  though 
great  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  brow  when  he  at  last 
found  voice  to  continue — 

"  I  thought  all  suffering  was  past,"  he  said  with  a  heroic 
smile.  "  This  foolish  flesh  and  blood  of  mine  dies  hard ! 
But,  as  I  was  saying  to  thee,  Valdemar — the  farm  is  thine, 
and  all  it  holds — save  some  few  trifles  I  have  set  down  to 
be  given  to  my  child.  There  is  little  worth  in  what  I  leave 
thee — the  soil  is  hard  and  ungrateful — the  harvest  uncer- 
tain, and  the  cattle  few.  Even  the  reindeer — didst  thou 
say  they  were  injured  by  their  fall  last  night  ? — I — I  for- 
get,   " 

"  No  harm  has  come  to  them,"  said  Svensen  hastily,  see- 
ing that  the  very  effort  of  thinking  was  becoming  too  much 
for  the  old  man.  "  They  are  safe  and  unhurt.  Trouble  not 
about  these  things !  " 

A  strange,  unearthly  radiance  transfigured  Giildmar's 
visage. 

"  Trouble  is  departing  swiftly  from  me,"  he  murmured. 

"  Trouble  and  I  shall  know  each  other  no  more  !  "  His 
voice  died  away  inarticulately,  and  he  was  silent  a  little 
space.  Suddenly,  and  with  a  rush  of  vigor  that  seemed 
superhuman,  he  raised  himself  nearly  erect,  and  pointed 
outwards  with  a  commanding  gesture. 

"  Bear  me  hence !  "  he  cried  in  ringing  tones.  "  Hence  to 
the  mountains  and  the  sea  !  " 

With  a  sort  of  mechanical,  swift  obedience,  Valdemar 
threw  open  the  door — the  wind  rushed  coldly  into  the 
house,  bringing  with  it  large  feathery  flakes  of  snow.  A 
hand  sledge  stood  outside  the  porch, — it  was  always  there 
during  the  winter,  being  much  used  for  visiting  the  out- 
lying grounds  of  the  farm, — and  to  this,  Valdemar  pre- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  481 

pared  to  carry  the  bonde  in  his  herculean  arms.  But,  on 
being  lifted  from  his  couch,  the  old  man,  filled  with 
strange,  almost  delirious  force,  declared  himself  able  to 
stand, — and,  though  suffering  deadly  anguish  at  every  step, 
did  in  truth  manage  to  reach  and  enter  the  sledge,  strongly 
supported  by  Valdemar.  There,  however,  he  fainted — 
and  his  faithful  servant,  covering  his  insensible  form  with 
furs,  thought  he  was  dead.  But  there  was  now  no  time  for 
hesitation, — dead  or  living,  Olaf  Giildmar's  will  was  law 
to  his  vassal, — an  oath  had  been  made  and  must  be  kept. 
To  propel  the  sledge  down  to  the  Fjord  was  an  easy 
matter — how  the  rest  of  his  duty  was  accomplished  he 
never  knew. 

He  was  conscious  of  staggering  blindty  onward,  weighted 
with  a  heavy,  helpless  burden, — he  felt  the  slippery  pier  be- 
neath his  feet — the  driving  snow  and  the  icy  wind  on  his 
face, — but  he  was  as  one  in  a  dream,  realizing  nothing 
plainly,  till  with  a  wild  start,  he  seemed  to  awake — and  lo ! 
he  stood  on  the  glassy  deck  of  the  Valkyrie  with  the  body 
of  his  "  King "  stretched  senseless  before  him !  Had  he 
brought  him  there  ?  He  could  not  remember  what  he  had 
done  during  the  past  few  mad  minutes, — the  earth  and  sky 
whirled  dizzily  around  him, — he  could  grasp  nothing  tan- 
gible in  thought  or  memory.  But  there,  most  certainly, 
Olaf  Guldinar  lay, — his  pallid  face  upturned,  his  hair  and 
beard  as  white  as  the  snow  that  clung  to  the  masts  of  his 
vessel — his  hand  clenched  on  the  fur  garment  that  en- 
wrapped him  as  with  a  robe  of  royalty. 

Dropping  on  his  knees  beside  him,  Yaldemar  felt  his 
heart — it  still  throbbed  fitfully  and  feebly.  Watching  the 
intense  calm  of  the  grand,  rugged  face,  this  stern,  weather- 
worn sailor — this  man  of  superstitious  and  heathen  imagi- 
nations— gave  way  to  womanish  tears — tears  that  were  the 
outcome  of  sincere  and  passionate  grief.  His  love  was  of 
an  exceptional  type, — something  like  that  of  a  faithful  dog 
that  refuses  to  leave  the  grave  of  its  master, — he  could  con- 
template death  for  himself  with  absolute  indifference, — but 
not  for  the  bonde,  whose  stuixty  strength  and  splendid 
physique  had  seemed  to  defy  all  danger. 

As  he  knelt  and  wept  unrestrainedly,  a  soft  change,  a 
delicate  transparency,  swept  over  the  dark  bosom  of  the 
sky.  Pale  pink  streaks  glittered  on  the  dusky  horizon — 
darts  of  light  began  to  climb  upward  into  the  clouds,  and 
to  plunge  downward  into  the  water, — the  radiance  spread, 


488  TSELMA. 

and  gradually  formed  into  a  broad  band  of  deep  crimson, 
which  burned  with  a  fixed  and  intense  glow — topaz-like 
rays  flickered  and  streamed  about  it,  as  though  uncertain 
what  fantastic  shape  they  should  take  to  best  display  their 
brilliancy.  This  tremulous  hesitation  of  varying  color  did 
not  last  long ;  the  whole  jewel-like  mass  swept  together, 
expanding  and  contracting  with  extraordinary  swiftness 
for  a  few  seconds — then,  suddenly  and  clearly  defined  in  the 
sky,  a  Kingly  Crown  blazed  forth — a  Crown  of  perfect 
shape,  its  five  points  distinctly  and  separately  outlined  and 
flashing  as  with  a  million  rubies  and  diamonds.  The  red 
lustre  warmly  tinged  the  pale  features  of  the  dying  man, 
and  startled  Valdemar,  who  sprang  to  his  feet  and  gazed 
at  that  mystic  aureola  with  a  cry  of  wonder.  At  the  same 
moment  Olaf  Giildmar  stirred,  and  began  to  speak 
drowsily  without  opening  his  eyes. 

"  Dawn  on  the  seal  "  he  murmured.  "  The  white  waves 
gleam  and  sparkle  beneath  the  prow,  and  the  ship  makes 
swift  way  through  the  water  1  It  is  dawn  in  my  heart — 
the  dawn  of  love  for  thee  and  me,  my  Thelma — fear  not  I 
The  rose  of  passion  is  a  hardy  flower  that  can  bloom  in  the 
north  as  well  as  in  the  south,  believe  me!  Thelma — 
Thelma  1 " 

He  suddenly  opened  his  eyes,  and.  realizing  his  surround- 
ings, raised  himself  half-erect. 

"  Set  sail ! "  he  cried,  pointing  with  a  majestic  motion  of 
his  arm  to  the  diadem  glittering  in  the  sky.  "  Why  do  we 
linger  ?  The  wind  favors  us,  and  the  tide  sweeps  forward 
— forward  1  See  how  the  lights  beckon  from  the  harbor  !  " 
He  bent  his  brows  and  looked  almost  angrily  at  Svensen. 
"  Do  what  thou  hast  to  do !  "  and  his  tones  were  sharp  and 
imperious.  "  I  must  press  on  !  " 

An  expression  of  terror,  pain,  and  pity  passed  over  the 
sailor's  countenance — for  one  instant  he  hesitated — the  next, 
he  descended  into  the  hold  of  the  vessel.  He  was  absent 
for  a  very  little  space, — but  when  he  returned  his  eyes  were 
wild  as  though  he  had  been  engaged  in  some  dark  and 
criminal  deed.  Olaf  Giildmar  was  still  gazing  at  the 
brilliancy  in  the  heavens,  which  seemed  to  increase  in  size 
and  lustre  as  the  wind  rose  higher.  Svensen  took  his  hand 
— it  was  icy  cold,  and  damp  with  the  dew  of  death. 

"  Let  me  go  with  thee  !  "  he  implored,  in  broken  accent. 
"  I  fear  nothing  !  Why  should  I  not  venture  also  on  the 
last  voyage  ?  " 


THE  LAND  OF  TEE  LONG  SHADOW.  489 

Giildmar  made  a  faint  but  decided  sign  of  rejection. 

"  The  Viking  sails  alone  to  the  grave  of  his  fathers !  "  he 
said,  with  a  serene  and  proud  smile.  "  Alone — alone  I 
Neither  wife,  nor  child,  nor  vassal  may  have  place  with  him 
in  his  ship — even  so  have  the  gods  willed  it.  Farewell, 
Yaldemar  !  Loosen  the  ropes  and  let  me  go ! — thou  servest 
me  ill — hasten — hasten — I  am  weary  of  waiting " 

His  head  fell  back, — that  mysterious  shadow  which  dark- 
ens the  face  of  the  dying  a  moment  before  dissolution,  was 
on  him  now. 

Just  then  a  strange,  suffocating  odor  began  to  permeate 
the  air — little  wreaths  of  pale  smoke  made  their  slow  way 
through  the  boards  of  the  deck — and  a  fierce  gust  of  wind, 
blowing  seawards  from  the  mountains,  swayed  the  Valkyrie 
uneasily  to  and  fro.  Slowly,  and  with  evident  reluctance, 
Sevensen  commenced  the  work  of  detaching  her  from  the 
pier, — feeling  instinctively  all  the  while  that  his  master's 
dying  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  When  but  one  slender 
rope  remained  to  be  cast  off,  he  knelt  by  the  old  man's  side 
and  whispered  tremblingly  that  all  was  done.  At  the  same 
moment  a  small,  stealthy  tongue  of  red  flame  curled  up- 
wards through  the  deck  from  the  hold, — and  Giildmar,  ob- 
serving this,  smiled. 

"  I  see  thou  hast  redeemed  thine  oath,"  he  said,  grate- 
fully pressing  Svensen's  hand.  "  'Tis  the  last  act  of  thine 
allegiance, — may  the  gods  reward  thy  faithfulness  !  Peace 
be  with  thee ! — we  shall  meet  hereafter.  Already  the  light 
shines  from  the  Rainbow  Bridge, — there, — there  are  the 
golden  peaks  of  the  hills  and  the  stretch  of  the  wide  sea  1 
Go,  Valdemar  ! — delay  no  longer,  for  my  soul  is  impatient 
— it  burns,  it  struggles  to  be  free  !  Go  ! — and — farewell  1 " 

Stricken  to  the  heart,  and  full  of  anguish, — yet  serf-like 
in  his  submission  and  resignation  to  the  inevitable, — Sven- 
sen  kissed  his  master's  hand  for  the  last  time.  Then,  with 
a  sort  of  fierce  sobbing  groan,  wrung  from  the  very  depths 
of  his  despairing  grief,  he  turned  resolutely  away,  and 
sprang  off  the  vessel.  Standing  at  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
pier,  he  let  slip  the  last  rope  that  bound  her, — her  sails  filled 
and  bulged  outward, — her  cordage  creaked,  she  shuddered 
on  the  water — lurched  a  little — then  paused. 

In  that  brief  moment  a  loud  triumphant  cry  rang  through 
the  air.  Olaf  Guldmar  leaped  upright  on  the  deck  as 
though  lifted  by  some  invisible  hand,  and  confronted  his 
terrified  servants,  who  gazed  at  him  in  fascinated  amazement 


490  THELMA. 

and  awe.  His  white  hair  gleamed  like  spun  silver — his  face 
was  transfigured,  and  wore  a  strange;  rapt  look  of  pale  yet 
splendid  majesty — the  dark  furs  that  clung  about  him 
trailed  in  regal  folds  to  his  feet. 

"  Hark  1  "  he  cried,  and  his  voice  vibrated  with  deep  and 
mellow  clearness.  "  Hark  to  the  thunder  of  the  galloping 
hoofs ! — see — see  the  glitter  of  the  shield  and  spear  !  She 
comes — ah  I  Thelma  !  Thehna  !  "  He  raised  his  r.rms  as 
though  in  ecstacy.  "  Glory  ! — joy  ! — Victory  !  " 

And,  like  a  noble  tree  struck  down  by  lightning,  he  fell 
— dead  1 

Even  as  he  fell,  the  Valkyrie  plunged  forward,  driven 
forcibly  by  a  swooping  gust  of  wind,  and  scudded  out  to  the 
Fjord  like  a  wild  bird  flying  before  a  tempest, — and,  while 
she  thus  fled,  a  sheet  of  flame  burst  through  her  sides  and 
blazed  upwards,  mingling  a  lurid,  smoky  glow  with  the  clear 
crimson  radiance  of  the  still  brilliant  and  crown-like  aurora. 
Following  the  current,  she  made  swift  way  across  the  dark 
water  in  the  direction  of  the  island  of  Seiland,  and  presently 
became  a  wondrous  Ship  of  Fire  !  Fire  flashed  from  her 
masts — fire  folded  up  her  spars  and  sails  in  a  devouring 
embrace, — fire,  that  leaped  and  played  and  sent  forth  a  mil- 
lion showering  sparks  hissingly  into  the  waves  beneath. 

With  beating  heart  and  straining  e}'es,  Yaldemar  Sven» 
sen  crouched  on  the  pier-head,  watching,  in  mute  agony,  the 
burning  vessel.  He  had  fulfilled  his  oath  ! — that  strange 
vow  that  had  so  sternly  bound  him, — a  vow  that  was  the 
outcome  of  his  peculiar  traditions  and  pagan  creed. 

Long  ago,  in  the  days  of  his  youth, — full  of  enthusiasm 
for  the  worship  of  Odin  and  the  past  splendors  of  the  race 
of  the  great  Norse  warriors, — he  had  chosen  to  recognize  in 
Olaf  Giildmar  a  true  descendant  of  kings,  who  was  by  blood 
and  birth,  though  not  in  power,  himself  a  king, — and  trac- 
ing his  legendary  history  back  to  old  and  half-forgotten 
sources,  he  had  proved,  satisfactorily,  to  his  own  mind,  that 
he,  Svensen,  must  lawfully,  and  according  to  old  feudal 
system,  be  this  king's  serf  or  vassal.  And,  growing  more 
and  more  convinced  of  this  in  his  dream}'  and  imaginative 
mind, — he  had  sworn  a  sort  of  n^'stic  friendship  and  allegi- 
ance, which  Giildmar  had  accepted,  imposing  on  him,  how- 
ever, only  one  absolute  command.  This  was  that  he  should 
be  given  the  "  crimson  shroud  "  and  sea-tomb  of  his  war- 
like ancestors, — for  the  idea  that  his  body  might  be  touched 
by  strange  hands,  shut  in  a  close  coffin,  and  laid  in  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.       491 

earth  to  moulder  away  to  wormy  corruption, — had  been  the 
one  fantastic  dread  of  the  sturdy  old  pagan's  life.  And  he 
had  taken  advantage  of  Svensen's  devotion  and  obedience 
to  impress  on  him  the  paramount  importance  of  his  solitary 
behest. 

"  Let  no  hypocritical  prayers  be  chanted  over  my  dumb 
corpse,"  he  had  said.  "  My  blood  would  ooze  from  me  at 
every  pore  were  I  touched  by  the  fingers  of  a  Lutheran  ! 
Save  this  goodly  body  that  has  served  me  so  well  from  the 
inferior  dust, — let  the  bright  fire  wither  it,  and  the  glad  sea 
drown  it, — and  my  soul,  beholding  its  end  afar  off,  shall  re- 
joice and  be  satisfied.  Swear  by  the  wrath  and  thunder  of 
the  gods ! — swear  by  the  unflinching  Hammer  of  Thor, — 
swear  by  the  gates  of  Valhalla,  and  in  the  name  of  Odin ! 
— and  having  sworn,  the  curse  of  all  these  be  upon  thee  if 
thou  fail  to  keep  thy  vow  1  " 

And  Valdemar  had  sworn.  Now  that  the  oath  was 
kept — now  that  his  promised  obedience  had  been  carried 
out  to  the  extremest  letter,  he  was  as  one  stupefied. 
Shivering,  yet  regardless  of  the  snow  that  began  to  fall 
thickly,  he  kept  his  post,  staring,  staring  in  drear  fascina- 
tion across  the  Fjord,  where  the  Valkyrie  drifted,  new  a 
mass  of  flame  blown  fiercely  by  the  wind,  and  gleaming  rc-d 
through  the  flaky  snow-storm. 

The  aurora  borealis  faded  by  gradual  degrees,  and  the 
blazing  ship  was  more  than  ever  distinctly  visible.  She 
was  seen  from  the  shore  of  Bosekop,  \>y  a  group  of  the  in- 
habitants, who,  rubbing  their  dull  eyes,  could  not  decide 
whether  what  they  beheld  was  fire,  or  a  new  phase  of  the 
capricious,  ever-changing  Northern  Lights, — the  rapidly 
descending  snow  rendering  their  vision  bewildered  and  un- 
certain. Any  way,  they  thought  very  little  about  it,— 
they  had  had  excitement  of  another  kind  in  the  arrival  of 
Ulrika  from  Talvig,  bringing  accounts  of  the  godly  Lovisa 
Elsland's  death. 

Moreover,  and  English  steam  cargo-boat,  bound  for  thq 
North  Cape,  had,  just  an  hour  previously,  touched  at  their 
harbor,  to  land  a  passenger, — a  mysterious  woman  closely 
veiled,  who  immediately  on  arrival  had  hired  a  sledge,  and 
had  bidden  the  driver  to  take  her  to  the  house  of  Olaf 
Giildmar,  an  eight  miles'  journey  through  the  drifted  snow. 
All  this  was  intensely  interesting  to  the  good,  stupid,  gossip- 
ing fisher-folks  of  Bosekop, — so  much  so,  indeed,  that  they 
scarcely  paid  any  heed  to  the  spectacle  of  the  fiery  ship 


492  THELMA. 

swaying  suggestively  on  the  heaving  water,  and  drifting 
rapidly  away — away  towards  the  frosted  peaks  of  Seiland. 

Further  and  further  she  receded, — the  flames  around  her 
waving  like  banners  in  a  battle — further  and  further  still — 
till  Valdemar  Svensen,  from  his  station  on  the  pier,  began 
to  lose  sight  of  her  blazing  timbers, — and,  starting  from  his 
reverie,  he  ran  rapidly  from  the  shore,  up  through  the  gar- 
den paths  to  the  farm-house,  in  order  to  gain  the  summit, 
and  from  that  point  of  vantage,  watch  the  last  glimmering 
spark  of  the  Viking's  burial.  As  he  reached  the  house,  he 
stopped  short  and  uttered  a  wild  exclamation.  There, — 
under  the  porch  hung  with  sparkling  icicles, — stood 
Thelma!  .  .  .  Thelma, — her  face  pale  and  weary,  yet 
smiling  faintly, — Thelma  with  the  glint  of  her  wondrous 
gold  hair  escaping  from  under  her  hat,  and  glittering  on  the 
folds  of  her  d_ark  fur  mantle. 

"  I  have  come  home,  Yaldemar  !  "  said  the  sweet,  rich, 
penetrating  voice.  "  Where  is  my  father  ?  " 

As  a  man  distraught,  or  in  some  dreadful  dream,  Yalde- 
mar approached  her — the  strangeness  of  his  look  and 
manner  filled  her  with  sudden  fear, — he  caught  her  hand  and 
pointed  to  the  dark  Fjord — to  the  spot  where  gleamed  a 
lurid  waving  wreath  of  flames. 

"  Froken  Thelma — he  is  there!"  he  gasped  in  choked, 
hoarse  tones.  "  There — where  the  gods  have  called  him  !  " 

With  a  faint  shriek  of  terror,  Thelma's  blue  eyes  turned 
toward  the  shadowy  water, — as  she  looked,  a  long  up-twist- 
ing snake  of  fire  appeared  to  leap  from  the  perishing 
Valkyrie, — a  snake  that  twined  its  glittering  coils  rapidly 
round  and  round  on  the  wind,  and  as  rapidly  sank — down 
. — down — to  one  glimmering  spark  which  glowed  redly  like 
a  floating  lamp  for  a  brief  space, — and  was  then  quenched 
for  ever  !  The  ship  had  vanished !  Thelma  needed  no  ex- 
planation,— she  knew  her  father's  creed — she  understood 
all.  Breaking  loose  from  Yaldemar's  grasp,  she  rushed  a 
few  steps  forward  with  arms  outstretched  on  the  bitter, 
snowy  air. 

"Father!  father!''  she  cried  aloud  and  sobbingly. 
"  Wait  for  me! — it  is  I  Thelma! — I  am  coming — Father!" 

The  white  world  around  her  grew  black — and,  shuddering 
like  a  shot  bird,  she  fell  senseless. 

Instantly  Valdemar  raised  her  from  the  ground,  and 
holding  her  tenderly  and  reverently  in  his  strong  arms, 
carried  her,  as  though  she  were  a  child,  into  the  house.  .  .  . 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  493 

The  clouds  darkened — the  snow-storm  thickened — the 
mountain-peaks,  stern  giants,  frowned  through  their  sleety 
veils  at  the  arctic  desolation  of  the  land  below  them, — and 
over  the  charred  and  sunken  corpse  of  the  departed  servant 
of  Odin,  sounded  the  solemn  De  Profundis  of  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  The  body  is  the  storm  ; 
The  soul  the  star  beyond  it,  in  the  deep 
Of  Nature's  caltn.    And,  yonder,  on  the  steep, 
The  Sun  of  Faith,  quiescent,  round,  and  warm  !  " 

LATE  on  that  same  night,  the  pious  Ulrika  was  engaged 
in  prayer.  Prayer  with  her  was  a  sort  of  fanatical  wres- 
tling of  the  body  as  well  as  of  the  soul, — she  was  never  con- 
tented unless  by  means  of  groans  and  contortions  she  could 
manage  to  work  up  by  degrees  into  a  condition  of  hysteria 
resembling  a  mild  epileptic  attack,  in  which  state  alone  she 
considered  herself  worthy  to  approach  the  Deity.  On  this 
occasion  she  had  some  difficulty  to  attain  the  desired  result 
— her  soul,  as  she  herself  expressed  it,  was  "  dry  " — and  her 
thoughts  wandered, — though  she  pinched  her  neck  and  arms 
with  the  hard  resoluteness  of  a  sworn  flagellant,  and 
groaned,  "  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me  a  sinner ! "  with  indefat- 
igable earnestness.  She  was  considerably  startled  in  the 
midst  of  these  energetic  devotions  by  a  sudden  jangling  of 
sledge-bells,  and  a  loud  knocking — a  knocking  which  threat- 
ened to  break  down  the  door  of  the  small  and  humble  house 
she  inhabited.  Hastily  donning  the  coarse  gown  and  bod- 
ice she  had  recently  taken  off  in  order  to  administer  chas- 
tisement to  her  own  flesh  more  thoroughly,  she  unfastened 
her  bolts  and  bars,  and,  lifting  the  latch,  was  confronted  by 
Valdemar  Svensen,  who,  nearly  breathless  with  swift  driv- 
ing through  the  snow-storm,  cried  out  in  quick  gasps — 

"  Come  with  me — come  1     She  is  dying  !  " 

"  God  help  the  man  !  "  exclaimed  Ulrika  startled.  "  Who 
is  dying  ?  " 

"  She — the  Froken  Thelma — Lady  Errington — she  is  all 
alone  up  there,"  and  he  pointed  distractedly  in  the  direction 
from  whence  he  had  come.  "  I  can  get  no  one  in  Bosekop, 
— the  women  are  cowards  all, — all  afraid  to  go  near  her," 
and  he  wrung  his  hands  in  passionate  distress. 


494  TSELMA. 

Ulrika  pulled  a  thick  shawl  from  the  nail  where  it  hung 
and  wrapped  it  round  her. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said,  and  without  more -delay,  stepped 
into  the  waiting  sledge,  while  Yaldemar,  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  gratitude  and  relief,  took  his  place  beside  her. 
"  But  how  is  it?"  she  asked,  as  the  reindeer  started  off  at 
full  speed,  "  how  is  it  that  the  bonders  daughter  is  again  at 
the  Altenfjord?" 

"  I  know  not !  "  answered  Svenson  despairingly.  "  1 
would  have  given  my  life  not  to  have  told  her  of  her  father's 
death." 

"  Death  !  "  cried  Ulrika.  "  Olaf  Guldmar  dead  I  Im- 
possible !  Only  last  night  I  saw  him  in  the  pride  of  his 
strength, — and  thought  I  never  had  beheld  so  goodly  a 
man.  Lord,  Lord!  That  he  should  be  dead  !  " 

In  a  few  words  Svensen  related  all  that  had  happened, 
with  the  exception  of  the  fire-burial  in  the  Fjord. 

But  Ulrika  immediately  asked,  "  Is  his  body  still  in  the 
house  ? " 

Svensen  looked  at  her  darkly.  "  Hast  thou  never  heard 
Ulrika,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  that  the  bodies  of  men  who  fol- 
low Olaf  Giildmar's  creed,  disappear  as  soon  as  the  life  de- 
parts from  them  ?  It  is  a  myster3r — strange  and  terrible  ! 
But  this  is  true — my  master's  sailing-ship  has  gone,  and  his 
body  with  it — and  I  know  not  where  !  " 

Ulrika  surveyed  him  steadily  with  a  slow,  incredulous 
smile.  After  a  pause,  she  said — 

"  Fidelity  in  a  servant  is  good,  Yaldemar  Svensen !  I 
know  you  well — I  also  know  that  a  pagan  shrinks  from 
Christian  burial.  Enough  said — I  will  ask  no  more — but 
if  Olaf  Giildmar's  ship's  has  gone,  and  he  with  it, — I  warn 
you,  the  village  will  wonder." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  said  Svensen  with  cold  brevity.  "  1 
have  spoken  truth — he  has  gone  !  I  saw  him  die — and  then 
vanish.  Believe  it  or  not  as  you  will,  I  care  not  1 " 

And  he  drove  on  in  silence.     Ulrika  was  silent  too. 

She  had  known  Valdemar  Svenson  for  many  years — he 
was  a  man  universally  liked  and  respected  at  all  the  harbors 
and  different  fishing-stations  of  Norway,  and  his  life  was  an 
open  book  to  eveiybody,  with  the  exception  of  one  page, 
which  was  turned  down  and  sealed, — this  was  the  question 
of  his  religious  belief.  No  one  knew  what  form  of  faith  he 
followed, — it  was  only  when  he  went  to  live  with  the  bondv, 
after  Thelma's  marriage, — that  the  nature  of  his  creed  was 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  495 

dimly  suspected.  But  Ulrika  had  no  dislike  for  him  on 
this  account, — her  opinions  had  changed  very  much  during 
the  past  few  months.  As  devout  a  Lutheran  as  ever,  she 
began  to  entertain  a  little  more  of  the  true  spirit  of  C  lids' 
tianity — that  spirit  of  gentle  and  patient  tolerance  which, 
full  of  forbearance  towards  all  humanity,  is  willing  to  ad 
mit  the  possibility  of  a  little  good  in  everything,  even  in 
the  blind  tenents  of  a  heathen  creed.  Part  of  this  altera 
tion  in  her  was  due  to  the  gratitude  she  secretly  felt  to 
wards  the  Giildmar  family,  for  having  saved  from  destruc- 
tion,— albeit  unconscious  of  his  parentage, — Sigurd,  the 
child  she  had  attempted  to  murder.  The  hideous  malevo- 
lence of  Lovisa  Elsland's  nature  had  shown  her  that  there 
may  be  bad  Lutherans, — the  invariable  tenderness  displayed 
by  the  Giildmars  for  her  unrecognized,  helpless  and  dis- 
traught son, — had  proved  to  her  that  there  may  be  good 
heathens.  Hearing  thus  suddenly  of  the  bonders  death, 
she  was  strangely  affected — she  could  almost  have  wept. 
She  felt  perfectly  convinced  that  Svensen  had  made  away 
with  his  master's  body  by -some  mysterious  rite  connected 
with  pagan  belief, — she  knew  that  Giildmar  himself,  accord- 
ing to  rumor,  had  buried  his  own  wife  in  some  unknown 
spot,  with  strange  and  weird  ceremonials,  but  she  was  in- 
clined to  be  tolerant, — and  glancing  at  Svensen's  grave, 
pained  face  from  time  o  time  as  she  sat  beside  him  in  the 
sledge,  she  resolved  to  ask  him  no  more  questions  on  the 
subject,  but  to  accept  and  support,  if  necessary,  the  theory 
he  had  so  emphatically  set  forth, — namely,  the  mj^stical 
evanishment  of  the  corpse  by  some  supernatural  agency. 

As  the3r  neared  their  "  stination,  she  began  to  think  of 
Thelma,  the  beautiful,  proud  girl  whom  she  remembered 
best  as  standing  on  a  little  green-tufted  hillock  with  a 
cluster  of  pansies  in  her  hand,  and  Sigurd — Sigurd  cling- 
ing fondly  to  her  white  skirts,  with  a  wealth  of  passionate 
devotion  in  his  upturned,  melancholy,  blue  eyes.  Ulrika 
had  seen  her  but  once  since  then, — and  that  was  on  the  oc- 
casion when,  at  the  threat  of  Lovisa  Elsland,  and  the  com- 
mand of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dyceworthy,  she  had  given  her 
Sir  Philip  Errington's  card,  with  the  false  message  written 
on  it  that  had  decoyed  her  for  a  time  into  the  wily  minis- 
ter's power.  She  felt  a  thrill  of  shame  as  she  remembered 
the  part  she  had  played  in  that  cruel  trick, — and  reverting 
once  more  to  the  memory  of  Sigurd,  whose  tragic  end  at 
the  Fall  of  Njedegorze  she  had  learned  through  Valdemar, 


496  THELMA. 

she  resolved  to  make  amends  now  that  she  had  the  chance, 
and  to  do  her  best  for  Thelma  in  her  suffering  and  trouble. 

"  For  who  knows,"  mused  Ulrika, "  Whether  it  is  not  the 
Lord's  hand  that  is  extended  towards  me, — and  that  in  the 
ministering  to  the  wants  of  her  whom  I  wronged,  and 
whom  my  son  so  greatly  loved,  I  may  not  thereby  cancel 
the  past  sin,  and  work  out  my  own  redemption  !  " 

And  her  dull  eyes  brightened  with  hope,  and  her  heart 
warmed, — she  began  to  feel  almost  humane  and  sympa- 
thetic,— and  was  so  eager  to  commence  her  office  of  nurse 
and  consoler  to  Thelma  that  she  jumped  out  of  the  sledge 
almost  before  it  had  stopped  at  the  farm  gate.  Disregard- 
ing Yaldemar's  assistance,  she  clambered  sturdily  over  the 
drifted  heaps  of  slippery  snow  that  blocked  the  deserted 
pathways,  and  made  for  the  house, — Valdemar  following 
her  as  soon  as  he  had  safely  fastened  up  the  sledge,  which 
was  not  his  own,  he  having  in  emergency  borrowed  it  from 
a  neighbor.  As  they  approached,  abound  came  floating  to 
meet  them — a  sound  which  made  them  pause  and  look  at 
each  other  in  surprise  and  anxiety.  Some  one  was  singing, 
— a  voice  full  and  clear,  though  with  a  strange,  uncertain 
quiver  in  it,  rippled  out  in  wild  strains  of  minor  melody  on 
the  snow-laden  air.  For  one  moment  Ulrika  listened  doubt- 
edly,  and  then  without  more  dela}r  ran  hastily  forward  and 
entered  the  house.  Thelma  was  there, — sitting  at  the  lat- 
tice window  which  she  had  thrown  wide  open  to  the  icy 
blast, — she  had  taken  off  her  cloak  and  hat,  and  her  hair, 
unbound,  fell  about  her  in  a  great,  glittering  tangle  of  gold, 
— her  hands  were  busy  manipulating  an  imaginary  spin- 
ning-wheel— her  eyes  were  brilliant  as  jewels,  but  full  oi 
pain,  terror,  and  pathos.  She  smiled  a  piteous  smile  as  she 
became  hazily  conscious  that  there  were  others  in  the  room 
— but  she  went  on  with  her  song — a  mournful,  Norwegian 
ditty, — till  a  sudden  break  in  her  voice  caused  her  to  put 
her  hand  to  her  throat  and  look  up  perplexedly. 

"  That  song  pleases  you  ?  "  she  asked  softly,  "  I  am  very 
glad!  Has  Sigurd  come  home?  He  wanders  so  much, 
poor  boy  !  Father,  dear,  you  must  tell  him  how  wrong  it 
is  not  to  love  Philip.  Every  one  loves  Philip — and  I — I 
love  him  too,  but  he  must  never  know  that.''  She  paused 
and  sighed.  "  That  is  my  secret, — the  only  one  I  have !  " 
And  she  drooped  her  fair  head  forlornly. 

Moved  by  intense  pity,  such  as  she  had  never  felt  in  all 


THE  LAND  OF  TSE  LONG  SHADOW.  497 

her  life  before,  Ulrika  went  up  and  tried  to  draw  her  gently 
from  the  window. 

'•  Poor  thing,  poor  thing !  "  she  said  kindly.  "  Come 
away  with  me,  and  lie  down !  You  mustn't  sit  here, — let 
me  shut  the  lattice, — it's  quite  late  at  night,  and  too  cold 
for  you,  my  dear." 

"  Too  cold  ?  "  and  Thelma  eyed  her  wonderingly.  "  Why, 
it  is  summer-time,  and  the  sun  never  sets  !  The  roses  are 
all  about  the  walls — I  gave  one  to  Philip  yesterday — a 
little  pale  rose  with  a  crimson  heart.  He  wore  it,  and 
seemed  glad ! " 

She  passed  her  hand  across  her  forehead  with  a  troubled 
air,  and  watched  Ulrika,  who  quietly  closed  the  window 
against  the  darkness  and  desolation  of  the  night.  "  Are 
you  a  friend  ?  "  she  asked  presently  in  anxious  tones.  "  I 
know  so  many  that  say  they  are  my  friends — but  I  am 
afraid  of  them  all — and  I  have  left  them.  Do  you  know 
why  ?  "  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  Ulrika's  rough  arm.  "  Be- 
cause they  tell  me  my  Philip  does  not  love  me  any  more. 
They  are  very  cruel  to  say  so,  and  I  think  it  cannot  be 
true.  I  want  to  tell  my  father  what  they  say — because  he 
will  know — and  if  it  is  true,  then  I  wish  to  die, — I  could 
not  live  !  Will  you  take  me  to  my  father  ?  " 

The  plaintive,  pleading  gentleness  of  her  voice  and  look 
bi'ought  more  tears  into  Ulrika's  eyes  than  had  ever  been 
forced  there  by  her  devotional  exercises, — and  the  miser- 
able Valdemar,  already  broken-hearted  by  his  master's 
death,  turned  away  and  sobbingly  cursed  his  gods  for  this 
new  and  undeserved  affliction.  As  the  Italian  peasantry 
fall  to  abusing  their  saints  in  time  of  trouble,  even  so  will 
the  few  remaining  believers  in  Norse  legendary  lore,  up- 
braid their  fierce  divinities  with  the  most  reckless  hardi- 
hood when  things  go  wrong.  There  were  times  when  Val- 
demar Svensen  secretly  quailed  at  the  mere  thought  of  the 
wrath  of  Odin, — there  were  others  when  he  was  ready  to 
pluck  the  great  god  by  the  beard  and  beat  him  with  the 
flat  of  his  own  drawn  Sword.  This  was  his  humor  at  the 
present  moment,  as  he  averted  his  gaze  from  the  pitiful 
sight  of  his  "  King's  "  fair  daughter  all  desolate  and  woe- 
begone, her  lovely  face  pale  with  anguish, — her  sweet  wits 
wandering,  and  her  whole  demeanor  that  of  one  who  is  lost 
in  some  dark  forest,  and  is  weary  unto  death.  She  studied 
Ulrika's  rough  visage  attentively,  and  presently  noticed 
the  tears  on  her  cheeks. 
32 


498  THELMA. 

"  You  are  crying  !  "  she  said  in  a  tone  of  grave  surprise, 
"  Why  ?  It  is  foolish  to  cry  even  when  the  heart  aches.  1 
have  found  that, — no  one  in  the  world  ever  pities  you  ! 
But  perhaps  you  do  not  know  the  world, — ah  !  it  is  very 
hard  and  cold  ; — all  the  people  hide  their  feelings,  and  pre- 
tend to  be  what  they  are  not.  It  is  difficult  to  live  so, — 
and  I  am  tired  1  " 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  stood  up  unsteadily,  stretch- 
ing out  her  little  cold  white  hands  to  Ulrika,  who  folded 
them  in  her  own  strong  coarse  palms.  "  Yes — I  am  very 
tired  !  "  she  went  on  dreamily.  "  There  seems  to  be  noth- 
ing that  is  true — all  is  false  and  unreal — I  cannot  under- 
stand! But  you  seem  kind," — here  her  swaying  figure 
tottered,  and  Ulrika  drew  her  more  closely  to  herself — "  I 
think  I  know  you — you  came  with  me  in  the  train,  did  you 
not?  Yes — and  the  little  baby  smiled  and  slept  in  my 
arms  nearly  all  the  way."  A  violent  shuddering  seized 
her,  and  a  quiver  of  agony  passed  over  her  face. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  murmured,  "  I  feel  ill — very  ill — and 
cold — but  do  not  mind — I  think — I  am — dying  !  "  She 
could  scarcely  articulate  these  last  words — she  sank  for- 
ward, fainting,  on  Ulrika's  breast,  and  that -devout  disciple 
of  Luther,  forgetting  all  her  former  dread  of  the  "  white 
witch  of  the  Altenfjord  " — only  remembered  that  she  held 
in  her  arms  a  helpless  woman  with  all  the  sorrows  and 
pangs  of  womanhood  thick  upon  her, — and  in  this  act  of 
warm  heart-expansion  and  timely  tenderness,  it  may  be 
that  she  cleansed  her  soiled  soul  in  the  sight  of  the  God 
she  worshipped,  and  won  a  look  of  pardon  from  the  ever- 
watchful  eyes  of  Christ. 

As  far  as  mundane  matters  were  concerned,  she  showed 
herself  a  woman  of  prompt  energy  and  decision.  La}'ing 
Thelnia  gently  down  upon  the  very  couch  her  dead  father 
had  so  lately  occupied,  she  sent  the  distracted  Yaldemar 
out  to  gather  fresh  pine-logs  for  the  fire,  and  then  busied 
herself  in  bringing  down  Thelma's  own  little  bed  from  the 
upper  floor,  airing  it  with  methodical  care,  and  making  it 
as  warm  and  cosy  as  a  bird's-nest.  While  she  was  engaged 
in  these  preparations,  Thelma  regained  her  consciousness, 
and  began  to  toss  and  tumble  and  talk  deliriously  ;  but 
with  it  all  she  retained  the  innate  gentleness  and  patience, 
and  submitted  to  be  undressed,  though  she  began  to  sob 
pleadingly  when  Ulrika  would  have  removed  her  hus- 
band's miniature  from  where  it  lay  pressed  against  her 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.       499 

bosom, — and  taking  it  in  her  own  hand  she  kissed  and  held 
it  fast.  One  by  one,  the  dainty  articles  of  delicate  apparel 
she  wore  were  loosened  and  laid  aside,  Ulrika  wondering  at 
the  embroidered  linen  and  costly  lace,  the  like  of  which  was 
never  seen  in  that  part  of  Norway, — but  wondering  still 
more  at  the  dazzling  skin  she  thus  unveiled,  a  skin  as  ex- 
quisitely soft  and  pure  as  the  satiny  cup  of  a  Nile  lily. 

Poor  Thelma  sat  resignedly  watching  her  own  attire 
taken  from  her,  and  allowing  herself  to  be  wrapped  in  a 
comfortable  loose  garment  of  white  u-admel,  as  warm  as 
eider-down,  which  Ulrika  had  found  in  a  cupboard  upstairs, 
and  which,  indeed,  had  once  belonged  to  Thelma,  she  and 
Britta  having  made  it  together.  She  examined  its  texture 
now  with  some  faint  interest — then  she  asked  plaintively — 

"  Are  you  going  to  bury  me  ?  You  must  put  me  to 
sleep  with  my  mother — her  name  was  Thelma,  too.  I 
think  it  is  an  unlucky  name." 

"Why,  my  dear?"  asked  Ulrika  kindly,  as  she  swept 
the  rich  tumbled  hair  from  the  girl's  eyes,  and  began  to 
braid  it  in  one  long  loose  plait,  in  order  to  give  her  greater 
ease. 

Thelma  sighed.  "  There  is  an  old  song  that  says " 

She  broke  off.  "  Shall  1  sing  it  to  you  ?  "  she  asked  with  a 
wild  look. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ulrika.  "  Not  now.  By-and-by !  "  And 
she  nodded  her  head  encouragingly.  "  By-and-by  !  There'll 
be  plenty  of  time  for  singing  present!}*,"  and  she  laid  her  in 
bed,  tucking  her  up  warmly  as  though  she  were  a  very 
little  child,  and  feeling  strongly  inclined  to  kiss  her. 

"  Ah,  but  I  should  like  to  tell  3rou,  even  if  I  must  not 
sing — "  and  Thelma  gazed  up  anxiousl}'  from  her  pillow — 
'•  only  my  head  is  so  heavy,  and  full  of  strange  noises — I  do 
not  know  whether  I  can  remember  it." 

"  Don't  try  to  remember  it,"  and  Ulrika  stroked  the  soft 
cheek,  with  a  curious  yearning  sensation  of  love  tugging  at 
her  tough  heartstrings.  "  Try  to  sleep — that  will  be  better 
for  you  1  "  And  she  took  from  the  fire  a  warm,  nourishing 
drink  she  had  prepared,  and  gave  it  to  her.  She  was  sur- 
prised at  the  eagerness  with  which  the  poor  girl  seized  it. 

"  Lord  help  us,  I  believe  she  is  light-headed  for  want  of 
food !  "  she  thought. 

Such  indeed  was  the  fact, — Thelma  had  been  several  days 
on  her  journey  from  Hull,  and  during  that  time  had  eaten 
so  little  that  her  strength  had  entirely  given  way.  The 


500  THELMA. 

provisions  on  board  the  Black  Polly  were  extremely  lim- 
ited, and  consisted  of  nothing  but  dried  fish,  hard  bread, 
and  weak  tea,  without  milk  or  sugar, — and  in  her  condition 
of  health,  her  system  had  rebelled  against  this  daily  un- 
tempting  bill  of  fare.  Ulrika's  simple  but  sustaining 
beverage  seemed  more  than  delicious  to  her  palate, — she 
drained  it  to  the  last  drop,  and,  as  she  returned  the  cup,  a 
faint  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks  and  lips. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  feebty.  "  You  are  very  good  to 
me  !  And  now  I  do  quite  know  what  I  wished  to  say.  It 
was  long  ago — there  was  a  queen,  named  Thelma, and  some 
one — a  great  warrior,  loved  her  and  found  her  fair.  But 
presently  he  grew  tired  of  her  face — and  raised  an  army 
against  her,  and  took  her  throne  by  force,  and  crowned  him- 
self king  of  all  her  land.  And  the  song  says  that  Queen 
Thelma  wandered  on  the  mountains  all  alone  till  she  died — 
it  was  a  sad  song — but  I  forget — the  end." 

And  her  voice  trailed  off  into  broken  murmurs,  her  eyes 
closed,  and  she  slept.  Ulrika  watched  her  musingly  and 
tenderly — wondering  what  secret  trouble  weighed  on  the 
girl's  mind.  When  Valdemar  Svensen  presently  looked  in, 
she  made  him  a  warning  sign — and,  hushing  his  footsteps, 
he  went  away  again.  She  followed  him  out  into  the  kitchen, 
where  he  had  deposited  his  load  of  pine- wood,  and  began  to 
talk  to  him  in  low  tones.  He  listened, — the  expression 
of  grief  and  fear  deepened  on  his  countenance  as  he  heard. 

"  Will  she  die  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Let  us  hope  not,"  returned  Ulrika,  "  But  there  is  no 
doubt  she  is  veiy  ill,  and  will  be  worse.  What  has  brought 
her  here,  I  wonder  ?  Do  you  know  ?  " 

Valdemar  shook  his  head. 

"  Where  is  her  husband  ?  "  went  on  Ulrika.  "  He  ought 
to  be  here.  How  could  he  have  let  her  make  such  a 
journey  at  such  a  time !  Why  did  he  not  come  with  her  ? 
There  must  be  something  wrong  !  " 

Svensen  looked,  as  he  felt,  completely  perplexed  and 
despairing.  He  could  think  of  no  reason  for  Thelma's  un- 
expected appearance  at  the  Altenfjord — he  had  forgotten 
all  about  the  letter  that  had  come  from  her  to  her  father, — 
the  letter  which  was  still  in  the  house,  unopened. 

"Well,  well!  It  is  very  strange!"  Ulrika  sighed  re- 
signedly. "  But  it  is  the  Lord's  will — and  we  must  do  our 
best  for  her,  that's  all."  And  she  began  to  enumerate  a  list 
of  things  she  wanted  from  Bosekop  for  her  patient's  sus- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  501 

tenance  and  comfort.  "  You  must  fetch  all  these,"  she 
said,  "  as  soon  as  the  day  is  fairly  advanced."  She  glanced 
at  the  clock — it  was  just  four  in  the  morning.  "  And  at 
the  same  time,  3^011  had  better  call  at  the  doctor's  house." 

"  He's  away,"  interrupted  Valdemar.  "  Gone  toChristi- 
ania." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ulrika  composedly.  "  Then  we  must 
do  without  him.  Doctors  are  never  much  use,  any  way, — 
maybe  the  Lord  will  help  me  instead." 

And  she  returned  to  Thelma,  who  still  slept,  though  her 
face  was  now  feverishly  flushed  and  her  breathing  hurried 
and  irregular. 

The  hours  of  the  new  day, — day,  though  seeming  night, 
passed  on  and  it  was  verging  towards  ten  o'clock  when  she 
woke,  raving  deliriously.  Her  father,  Sigurd,  Philip,  the 
events  of  her  life  in  London,  the  fatigues  of  her  journey, 
were  all  jumbled  fantastically  together  in  her  brain — she 
talked  and  sang  incessantly,  and,  like  some  wild  bird  sud- 
denly caged,  refused  to  be  quieted.  Ulrika  was  all  alone 
with  her, — Valdemar  having  gone  to  execute  his  com- 
missions in  Bosekop, — and  she  had  enough  to  do  to  make 
her  remain  in  bed.  For  she  became  suddenly  possessed  by 
a  strong  desire  to  go  sailing  on  the  Fjord — and  occasion- 
ally it  took  all  Ulrika's  strength  to  hold  and  keep  her  from 
springing  to  the  window,  whose  white  frosted  panes  seemed 
to  have  some  fatal  attraction  for  her  wandering  eyes. 

She  spoke  of  things  strange  and  new  to  her  attendant's 
ears — frequently  she  pronounced  the  names  of  Violet  Vere 
and  Lady  Winsleigh  with  an  accent  of  horror, — then  she 
would  talk  of  George  Lorimer  and  Pierre  Duprez, — and 
she  would  call  for  Britta  often,  sometimes  endearingly — 
sometimes  impatiently. 

The  picture  of  her  home  in  Warwickshire  seemed  to 
haunt  her, — she  spoke  of  its  great  green  trees,  its  roses,  its 
smooth  sloping  lawns — then  she  would  begin  to  smile  and 
sing  again  in  such  a  weak,  pitiful  fashion  that  Ulrika, — 
her  stern  nature  utterly  melted  at  the  sight  of  such  inno- 
cent helpless  distraction  and  sorrow, — could  do  nothing  but 
fold  the  suffering  creature  in  her  arms,  and  rock  her  to  and 
fro  soothingly  on  her  breast,  the  tears  running  down  her 
cheeks  the  while. 

And  after  long  hours  of  bewilderment  and  anguish,  Er- 
rington's  child,  a  boy,  was  born — dead.  With  a  regretful 
heart,  Ulrika  laid  out  the  tiny  corpse, — the  withered  bios* 


502  THELMA. 

som  of  a  promised  new  delight,  .1  minature  form  so  fair 
and  perfect  that  it  seemed  sheer  cruelty  on  the  part  of 
nature  to  deny  it  breath  and  motion.  Tbelma's  mind  still 
wandered — she  was  hardly  conscious  of  anything — and 
TTlrika  was  almost  glad  that  this  was  so.  Her  anxiety  was 
very  great — she  could  not  disguise  from  herself  that 
Thelma's  life  was  in  danger, — and  both  she  and  Valdemar 
wrote  to  Sir  Philip  Errington,  preparing  him  for  the 
worst,  and  urging  him  to  come  at  once, — little  aware  that 
the  very  night  the  lifeless  child  was  born,  was  the  same  on 
which  he  had  started  from  Hull  for  Christiansund,  after  his 
enforced  waiting  for  the  required  steamer.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  be  done  now,  thought  Ulrika  piously,  but 
to  trust  in  the  Lord  and  hope  for  the  best.  And  Valdemar 
Sveusen  made  with  his  own  hands  a  tiny  coffin  for  the  body 
of  the  little  dead  boy  who  was  to  have  brought  such  pride 
and  satisfaction  to  his  parents,  and  one  day  rowed  it 
across  the  Fjord  to  that  secret  cave  where  Thelma's  mother 
lay  enshrined  in  stone.  There  he  left  it,  feeling  sure  he  had 
done  well. 

Ulrika  asked  him  no  questions — she  was  entirely  ab- 
sorbed in  the  duties  that  devolved  upon  her,  and  with  an 
ungrudging  devotion  strange  to  see  in  her,  watched  and 
tended  Thelma  incessantly,  scarcely  allowing  herself  a  min- 
ute's space  for  rest  or  food.  The  idea  that  her  present  min- 
istration was  to  save  her  soul  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  had 
grown  upon  her,  and  was  now  rooted  firmly  in  her  mind — 
she  never  gave  way  to  fatigue  or  inattention, — every  moan, 
every  restless  movement  of  the  suffering  girl,  obtained  her 
instant  and  tender  solicitude,  and  when  she  prayed  now,  it 
was  not  for  herself  but  for  Thelma. 

"  Spare  her,  good  Lord !  "  she  would  implore  in  the 
hyperbolical  language  she  had  drawn  from  her  study  of  the 
Scriptures — "  As  the  lily  among  thorns,  so  is  she  among 
the  daughters!  Cut  her  not  off  root  and  branch  from  the 
land  of  the  living,  for  her  countenance  is  comely,  and  as  a 
bunch  of  myrrh  which  hath  a  powerful  sweetness,  even  so 
must  she  surely  be  to  the  heart  of  her  husband  !  Stretch 
forth  Thy  right  hand,  0  Lord,  and  scatter  healing,  for  the 
gates  of  death  shall  not  prevail  against  Thy  power  !  " 

Day  after  day  she  poured  out  petitions  such  as  these,  and 
with  the  dogged  persistency  of  a  soldier  serving  Cromwell, 
believed  that  they  would  be  granted, — though  day  after 
day  Thelraa  seemed  to  grow  weaker  and  weaker.  She  was 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.        503 

still  light-headed — her  face  grew  thin  and  shadowy, — her 
hands  were  almost  transparent  in  their  whiteness  and 
delicacy,  and  her  voice  was  so  faint  as  to  be  nearly  in- 
audible. Sometimes  Ulrika  got  frightened  at  her  appear- 
ance, and  heartily  wished  for  medical  assistance  but  this 
was  not  to  be  had.  Therefore  she  was  compelled  to  rely  on 
the  efficacy  of  one  simple  remedy, — a  herbal  drink  to  allay 
fever, — the  virtues  of  which  she  had  been  taught  in  her 
youth, — this,  and  the  healing  mercies  of  mother  Nature  to- 
gether with  the  reserved  strength  of  her  own  constitution, 
were  the  threads  on  which  Thehna's  life  hung. 

Time  passed  on — and  yet  there  was  no  news  from  Sir 
Philip.  One  night,  sitting  beside  her  exhausted  patient, 
Ulrika  fancied  she  saw  a  change  on  the  wan  face — a  softer, 
more  peaceful  look  than  had  been  there  for  many  days. 
Half  in  fear,  half  in  hope,  she  watched, — Thelma  seemed  to 
sleep, — but  presently  her  large  blue  eyes  opened  with  a 
calm  yet  wondering  expression  in  their  clear  depths.  She 
turned  slightly  on  her  pillows,  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  Have  I  been  ill  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  returned  Ulrika  softly,  overjoyed,  yet 
afraid  at  the  girl's  returning  intelligence.  "  Very  ill.  But 
you  feel  better  now,  don't  you  ?  " 

Thelma  sighed,  and  raising  her  little  wasted  hand,  ex- 
amined it  curiously.  Her  wedding  and  betrothal  rings  were 
so  loose  on  her  finger  that  the}^  would  have  fallen  off  had 
they  been  held  downwards.  She  seemed  surprised  at  this, 
but  made  no  remark.  For  some  time  she  remained  quiet, 
— steadfastly  gazing  at  Ulrika,  and  evidently  trying  to 
make  out  who  she  was.  Presently  she  spoke  again. 

;'  I  remember  everything  now,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  I 
am  at  home,  at  the  Altenfjord — and  I  know  how  I  came — 
and  also  why  I  came."  Here  her  lips  quivered.  "  And  I 
shall  see  my  father  no  more,  for  he  has  gone — and  I  am  all 
— all  alone  in  the  world  !  "  She  paused — then  added,  "  Do 
you  think  I  am  dying  ?  If  so,  I  am  very  glad !  " 

"  Hush  my  dear !  "  said  Ulrika.  "  You  mustn't  talk  in 

that  way.  Your  husband  is  coming  presently "  she 

broke  off  suddenly,  startled  at  the  look  of  utter  despair  in 
Thehna's  eyes. 

"  Yo'u  are  wrong,"  she  replied  wearily.  "  He  will  not 
come — he  cannot !  He  does  not  want  me  any  more !  " 

And  two  large  tears  rolled  slowly  down  her  pale  cheeks. 
Ulrika  wondered,  but  forebore  to  pursue  the  subject  further, 


504  THELMA. 

fearing  to  excite  or  distress  her, — and  contented  herself  foi 
the  present  with  attending  to  her  patient's  bodily  needs. 
She  went  to  the  fire,  and  began  to  pour  out  some  nourishing 
soup,  which  she  alwa}-s  had  there  in  readiness, — and  while 
she  was  thus  engaged,  Thelma's  brain  cleared  more  and 
more, — till  with  touching  directness,  and  a  new  hope  flush- 
ing her  face,  she  asked  softly  and  beseechingly  for  her 
child.  "  I  forgot !  "  she  said  simply  and  sweetly.  "  Of 
course  I  am  not  alone  any  more.  Do  give  me  my  baby 
— I  am  much  better — nearly  well — and  I  should  like  to 
kiss  it." 

Ulrika  stood  mute,  taken  aback  by  this  demand.  She 
dared  not  tell  her  the  truth — she  feared  its  effect  on  the 
sensitive  mind  that  had  so  lately  regained  its  balance.  But 
while  she  hesitated,  Thelma  instinctively  guessed  all  she 
strove  to  hide. 

"  It  is  dead  !  "  she  cried.     "  Dead ! — and  I  never  knew  !  " 

And,  burying  her  golden  head  in  her  pillows,  she  broke 
into  a  passion  of  convulsive  sobbing.  Ulrika  grew  posi- 
itively  desperate  at  the  sound, — what  ivas  she  to  do  ?  Every- 
thing seemed  to  go  against  her — she  was  inclined  to  cry 
herself.  She  embraced  the  broken-hearted  girl,  and  tried 
to  soothe  her,  but  in  vain.  The  long  delirium  and  subse- 
quent weakness, — combined  with  the  secret  trouble  on  her 
mind, — had  deprived  poor  Thelma  of  all  resisting  power, 
and  she  wept  on  and  on  in  Ulrika's  arms  till  nature  was 
exhausted,  and  she  could  weep  no  longer.  Then  she  lay 
motionless,  with  closed  eyes,  utterly  drained  in  body  and 
spirit,  scarcely  breathing,  and,  save  for  a  shivering  moan 
that  now  and  then  escaped  her,  she  seemed  almost  insensi- 
ble. Ulrika  watched  her  with  darkening,  meditative  brows, 
— she  listened  to  the  rush  of  the  storm-wind  without, — it 
was  past  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  She  began  to  count  on 
her  fingers — it  was  the  sixteenth  day  since  the  birth  of  the 
child, — sixteen  days  exactly  since  she  had  written  to  Sir 
Philip  Errington,  informing  him  of  his  wife's  danger — and 
the  danger  was  not  yet  past.  Thinking  over  all  that  had 
happened,  and  the  apparent  hopelessness  cf  the  case,  she 
suddenly  took  a  strange  idea  into  her  head.  Retiring  to  a 
distant  corner,  she  dropped  on  her  knees. 

"  O  Lord,  God  Almight}r !  "  she  said  in  a  fierce  whisper, 
u  Behold,  I  have  been  Thy  servant  until  now !  I  have 
wrestled  with  Thee  in  prayer  till  I  am  past  all  patience  !  If 
Thou  wilt  not  hear  my  petition,  why  callest  Thou  Thyself 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  505 

good  ?  Is  it  good  to  crush  the  already  fallen  ?  Is  it  good 
to  have  no  mercy  on  the  sorrowful  ?  Wilt  Thou  condemn 
the  innocent  without  reason?  If  so,  thou  art  not  the  Holy 
One  I  imagined  !  Send  forth  Thy  power  now — now,  while 
there  is  time  !  Rescue  her  that  is  lying  under  the  shadow 
of  death — for  how  has  she  offended  Thee  that  she  should 
die  ?  Delay  no  longer,  or  how  shall  I  put  my  trust  in  Thee  ? 
Send  help  speedily  from  Thine  everlasting  habitations — or, 
behold  !  I  do  forsake  Thee — and  my  soul  shall  seek  else- 
where for  Eternal  Justice  I  " 

As  she  finished  this  extraordinary,  half-threatening,  and 
entirely  blasphemous  petition,  the  boisterous  gale  roared 
wildly  round  the  house  joining  in  chorus  with  the  storn^ 
dash  of  waves  upon  the  coast — a  chorus  that  seemed  to 
Ulrika's  ears  like  the  sound  of  fiendish  and  derisive 
laughter. 

She  stood  listening, — a  trifle  scared — yet  with  a  sort  of 
fanatical  defiance  written  on  her  face,  and  she  waited  in  sul- 
len patience  evidently  expecting  an  immediate  answer  to 
her  outrageous  prayer.  She  felt  somewhat  like  a  demagogue 
of  the  people,  who  boldly  menaces  an  all-powerful  sovereign, 
even  while  in  dread  of  instant  execution.  There  was  a 
sharp  patter  of  sleet  on  the  window, — she  glanced  nervously 
at  Thelma,  who,  perfectly  still  on  her  couch,  looked  more 
like  a  white,  recumbent  statue  than  a  living  woman.  The 
wind  shook  the  doors,  and  whistled  shrilly  through  the 
crevices, — then,  as  though  tired  of  its  own  wrath,  surged 
away  in  hoarse  murmurs  over  the  tops  of  the  creaking 
pines  towards  the  Fjord,  and  there  was  a  short,  impressive 
silence. 

Ulrika  still  waited — almost  holding  her  breath  in  expec- 
tation of  some  divine  manifestation.  The  brief  stillness 
grew  unbearable  ....  Hush  !  What  was  that !  Jingle — 
jangle — jingle — jangle! — Bells!  Sledge  bells  tinkling 
musically  and  merrily — and  approaching  swiftly,  nearer — 
nearer !  Now  the  sharp  trotting  roofs  on  the  hartl  snow — 
then  a  sudden  slackening  of  speed — the  little  metallic 
chimes  rang  slower  and  yet  more  slowly,  till  with  a  decisive 
and  melodious  clash  they  stopped  ! 

Ulrika's  heart  beat  thickly — her  face  flushed — she  ad- 
vanced to  Thelma's  bedside,  hoping,  fearing, — she  knew  not 
what.  There  was  a  tread  of  firm,  yet  hurried,  footsteps 
without — a  murmur  of  subdued  voices — a  half-suppressed 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  relief  from  Valdernar, — and 


506  THELMA. 

then  the  door  of  the  room  was  hastily  thrown  open,  and  a 
man's  tall  figure,  draped  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  garment 
of  frozen  snowflukes,  stood  on  the  threshold.  The  noise 
startled  Thelma — she  opened  her  beautiful,  tired,  blue  eyes. 
Ah !  what  a  divine  rapture, — what  a  dazzling  wonder  and 
joy  flashed  into  them,  giving  them  back  their  old  lustre  of 
sunlight  sparkling  on  azure  sea !  She  sprang  up  in  her 
bed  and  stretched  out  her  arms. 

"  Philip !  "  she  cried  sobbingly.  "  Philip  !  oh  my  dar- 
ling !  Try — try  to  love  me  again  !  .  .  .  just  a  little  1 — be- 
fore 1  die  !  " 

As  she  spoke  she  was  clasped  to  his  breast, — folded  to  his 
heart  in  that  strong,  jealous,  passionate  embrace  with 
which  we  who  love,  would  fain  shield  our  nearest  and  dear- 
est from  even  the  shadow  of  evil — his  lips  closed  on  hers, — 
and  in  the  sacred  stillness  that  followed,  Ulrika  slipped 
from  the  room,  leaving  husband  and  wife  alone  together. 


CHAPTER  XXXI7. 

*'  I  have  led  her  home,  my  love,  my  only  friend; 

There  is  none  like  her,  none  ! 
And  never  yet  so  warmly  ran  my  blood, 

And  sweetly  on  and  on, 
Calming  itself  to  the  long-wished-for  end, 

Full  to  the  banks,  close  on  the  promised  good." 

TENNYSON. 

BRITTA  was  in  the  kitchen,  dragging  off  her  snow-wet 
cloak  and  fur  mufflers,  and  crying  heartily  all  the  while. 
The  stalwart  Svenson  stood  looking  at  her  in  perplexity, 
now  and  then  uttering  a  word  of  vague  sympathy  and  con- 
solation, to  which  she  paid  not  the  slighest  heed.  The  poor 
girl  was  tired  out,  and  half-numb  with  the  piercing  cold, — 
the  excitement  which  had  kept  her  up  for  days  and  days, 
had  yielded  to  the  nervous  exhaustion,  which  was  its 
natural  result, — and  she  kept  on  weeping  without  exactly 
knowing  why  she  wept.  Throughout  the  long  and  fatiguing 
journey  she  had  maintained  unflinching  energy  and  perse- 
verence, — undaunted  by  storm,  sleet,  and  darkness,  she  had 
driven  steadily  over  long  miles  of  trackless  snow — her  iiv 
stinct  had  guided  her  by  the  shortest  and  quickest  routes — 
she  seemed  to  know  every  station  and  village  on  the  way, — 
she  always  managed  to  obtain  relays  of  reindeer  just  when 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  507 

they  were  needed, — in  short,  Errington  would  hardly  have 
been  able  to  reach  the  Altenfjord  without  her. 

He  had  never  realized  to  its  full  extent  her  strong,  in- 
domitable, devoted  character,  till  he  saw  her  hour  after 
hour  seated  beside  him  in  the  pulkha,  her  hands  tightly 
gripping  the  reins  of  the  horned  animals,  whose  ways  she 
understood  and  perfectly  controlled, — her  bright,  bird-like 
eyes  fixed  with  watchful  eagerness  on  the  bewildering  white 
landscape  that  opened  out  incessantly  before  her.  Her 
common  sense  was  never  at  fault — she  forgot  nothing — and 
with  gentle  but  respectful  firmness  she  would  insist  on  Sir 
Philip's  taking  proper  intervals  of  rest  and  refreshment  at 
the  different  farms  they  passed  on  their  road,  though  he, 
eager  to  press  on,  chafed  and  fretted  at  every  little  delay. 
They  were  welcomed  all  along  their  route  with  true  Norse 
hospitality,  though  the  good  country-folk  who  entertained 
them  could  not  refrain  from  astonishment  at  the  idea  of 
their  having  undertaken  such  a  journey  at  such  a  season, 
and  appeared  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  their  reaching 
their  destination  at  all.  And  now  that  they  had  reached  it 
in  safety,  Britta's  strength  gave  way.  Valdemar  Svensen 
had  hastily  blurted  out  the  news  of  the  bonders  death  even 
while  she  and  Sir  Philip  were  alighting  from  their  sledge — • 
and  in  the  same  breath  had  told  them  of  Thelma's  danger- 
ous illness.  What  wonder,  then,  that  Britta  sobbed  hys- 
terically, and  refused  to  be  comforted, — what  wonder  that 
she  turned  upon  Ulrika  as  that  personage  approached,  in  a 
burst  of  unreasonable  anger. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  "  she  cried,  "  to  think  that  the 
Frb'ken  should  be  so  ill — almost  dying!  and  have  nobody 
but  you  to  attend  to  her  !  " 

This,  with  a  vindictive  toss  of  the  brown  curls.  TJlrika 
winced  at  her  words — she  was  hurt,  but  she  answered 
gently— 

"  I  have  done  my  best,"  she  said  with  a  sort  of  grave 
pathos,  "  I  have  been  with  her  night  and  day — had  she 
been  a  daughter  of  ni3r  own  blood,  I  know  not  how  I  could 
have  served  her  with  more  tenderness.  And,  surely,  it  has 
been  a  sore  and  anxious  time  with  me  also — for  I,  too,  have 
learned  to  love  her  !  " 

Her  set  mouth  quivered, — and  Britta,  seeing  her  emotion, 
was  ashamed  of  her  first  hasty  speech.  She  made  an  act  of 
contrition  at  once  by  putting  her  arms  round  Ulrika's  neck 
and  kissing  her — a  -proceeding  which  so  much  astonished 


508  TffELMA. 

that  devout  servant  of  Luther,  that  her  dull  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  Forgive  me  1  "  said  the  impetuous  little  maiden.  "  1 
was  very  rude  and  very  unkind !  But  if  you  love  the 
Frtiken,  you  will  understand  how  I  feel — how  I  wish  I 
could  have  helped  to  take  care  of  her.  And  oh !  the 
bonde  !  " — here  she  gave  way  to  a  fresh  burst  of  tears — 
"the  dear,  good,  kind,  brave  bonde!  That  he  should  be 
dead  1 — oh  I  it  is  too  cruel — too  dreadful — I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it !  " 

Ulrika  patted  her  consolingly  on  the  shoulder,  but  said 
nothing — and  Yaldemar  sighed.  Britta  sought  for  her 
handkerchief,  and  dried  her  e3res — but,  after  a  minute,  began 
to  crjr  again  as  recklessly  as  ever. 

"  And  now  " — she  gasped — "  if  the  Froken — dies — I  will 
die  too.  I  will — you  see  if  I  don't  1  I  w-w-won't  live — 
without  her !  " 

And  such  a  big  sob  broke  from  her  heaving  bosom  that 
it  threatened  to  burst  her  trimly  laced  little  bodice. 

"  She  will  not  die,"  said  Ulrika  decisively.  "  I  have  had 
my  fears — but  the  crisis  is  passed.  Do  not  fret,  Britta — 
there  is  no  longer  any  danger.  Her  husband's  love  will  lift 
the  trouble  from  her  heart — and  strength  will  return  more 
speedily  than  it  left  her." 

And  turning  a  little  aside  on  the  pretence  of  throwing 
more  wood  on  the  fire,  she  muttered  inaudibly,  "  0  Lord, 
verily  thou  hast  done  well  to  grant  my  just  demand  !  Even 
for  this  will  I  remain  Thy  servant  for  ever !  "  After  this 
parenthesis,  she  resumed  the  conversation, — Valdemar 
Svensen  sitting  silently  apart, — and  related  all  that  had 
happened  since  Thelma's  arrival  at  the  Altenfjord.  She 
also  gave  an  account  of  Lovisa  Elsland's  death, — though 
Britta  was  not  much  affected  by  the  loss  of  her  grand- 
mother. 

"Dreadful  old  thing !"  she  said  with  a  shudder.  "I'm 
glad  I  wasn't  with  her  1  I  remember  how  she  cursed  the 
Froken, — perhaps  her  curse  has  brought  all  the  trouble — 
if  so,  it's  a  good  thing  she's  dead,  for  now  everything  will 
come  right  again.  I  used  to  fancy  she  had  some  crime  to 
confess, — did  she  say  anything  wicked  when  she  was 
dying  ?  " 

Ulrika  avoided  a  direct  reply  to  this  question.  What 
was  the  good  of  horrifying  the  girl  by  telling  her  that  her 
deceased  relative  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  murderess  ? 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  509 

She  resolved  to  let  the  secret  of  old  Lovisa's  life  remain 
buried  with  her.  Therefore  she  simply  answered — 

"  Her  mind  wandered  greatly, — it  was  difficult  to  hear 
her  last  words.  But  it  should  satisfy  you,  Britta,  to  know 
that  she  passed  away  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord." 

Britta  gave  a  little  half-dubious,  half-scornful  smile.  She 
had  not  the  slightest  belief  in  the  sincerity  of  her  late 
grandmother's  religious  principles. 

"  I  don't  understand  people  who  are  so  much  afraid  of 
the  Lord,"  she  said.  "  They  must  have  done  something 
wrong.  If  you  always  do  your  best,  and  try  to  be  good, 
you  needn't  fear  anything.  At  least,  that's  my  opinion." 

"  There  is  the  everlasting  burning,"  began  Ulrika 
solemnly. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  "  exclaimed  Britta  quite  impatiently.  <;  I 
don't  believe  it !  " 

Ulrika  started  back  in  wonder  and  dismay.  "  You  don't 
believe  it !  "  she  said  in  awed  accents.  "  Are  you  also  a 
heathen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  a  heathen,"  replied 
Britta  almost  gaily.  "  But  I  can't  believe  that  God,  who 
is  so  good,  is  going  to  everlastingly  burn  anybody.  He 
couldn't,  you  know  !  It  would  hurt  Him  so  much  to  see 
poor  creatures  writhing  about  in  flames  for  ever — we  would 
not  be  able  to  bear  it,  and  I'm  quite  sure  it  would  make 
Him  miserable  even  in  heaven.  Because  He  is  all  Love — 
He  says  so, — He  couldn't  be  cruel !  " 

This  frank  statement  of  Britta's  views  presented  such  a 
new  form  of  doctrine  to  Ulrika's  heavy  mind  that  she  was 
almost  appalled  by  it.  God  couldn't  burn  anybody  for 
ever — He  was  too  good  !  What  a  daring  idea  I  And  yet 
so  consoling — so  wonderful  in  the  infinite  prospect  of  hopo 
it  offered,  that  she  smiled, — even  while  she  trembled  to  con' 
template  it.  Poor  soul !  She  talked  of  heathens — bein^ 
herself  the  worst  type  of  heathen — namely,  a  Christian 
heathen.  This  sounds  incongruous — yet  it  may  be  taken  for 
granted  that  those  who  profess  to  follow  Christianity,  and 
yet  make  of  God,  a  being  malicious,  revengeful,  and  of  more 
evil  attributes  than  they  possess  themselves, — are  as  bar- 
barous, as  unenlightened,  as  hopelessly  sunken  in  slavish 
ignorance  as  the  lowest  savage  who  adores  his  idols  of  mud 
and  stone.  Britta  was  quite  unconscious  of  having  said 
anything  out  of  the  common — she  was  addressing  herself  to 
Svensen. 


510  THELMA. 

"  Where  is  the  bonde  buried,  Yaldemar  ?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  tone. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  strange,  n^sterious  smile. 

"  Buried  ?  Do  you  suppose  his  body  could  mix  itself 
with  common  earth  ?  No! — he  sailed  a:vay,  Britta — away 
— yonder ! " 

And  he  pointed  out  through  the  window  to  the  Fjord  now 
invisible  in  the  deep  darkness. 

Britta  stared  at  him  with  roundly  opened,  frightened 
eyes — her  face  paled. 

"  Sailed  away  ?  You  must  be  dreaming  !  Sailed  away  ! 
How  could  he — if  he  was  dead  ?  " 

Yaldemar  grew  suddenly  excited.  "  I  tell  you,  he  sailed 
away  1  "  he  repeated  in  a  lo.w,  hoarse  whisper.  "  Where  is 
his  ship,  the  Valkyrie  ?  Try  if  you  can  find  it  anywhere — 
on  sea  or  land  !  It  has  gone,  and  he  has  gone  with  it — like 
a  king  and  warrior — to  glory,  joy,  and  victory  !  Glory — joy 
— victory  ! — those  were  his  last  words  !  " 

Britta  retreated,  and  caught  Ulrika  by  the  arm.  "  Is  he 
mad  ?  "  she  asked  fearfully. 

Yaldemar  heard  her,  and  rose  from  his  chair,  a  pained 
smile  on  his  face. 

"  I  am  not  mad,  Britta,"  he  said  gently.  "  Do  not  be 
afraid  !  If  grief  for  my  master  could  have  turned  my  brain, 
I  had  been  mad  ere  this, — but  I  have  all  my  wits  about  me, 
and  I  have  told  you  the  truth."  He  paused — then  added, 
in  a  more  ordinary  tone,  "  You  will  need  fresh  logs  of  pine 
— I  will  go  and  bring  them  in." 

And  he  went  out.  Britta  gazed  after  him  in  speechless 
wonder. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  he  says,"  returned  Ulrika  composedly.  "  You, 
like*  others,  must  have  known  that  Olaf  Giildmar's  creed 
was  a  strange  one — his  burial  has  been  strange — that  is  all !  " 

And  she  skillfully  turned  the  conversation,  and  began  to 
talk  of  Thelma,  her  sorrows  and  sufferings.  Britta  was 
most  impatient  to  see  her  beloved  "  Froken,"  and  quite 
grudged  Sir  Philip  the  long  time  he  remained  alone  with 
his  wife. 

"  He  might  call  me,  if  only  for  a  moment,"  Britta  thought 
plaintively.  "  I  do  so  want  to  look  at  her  dear  face  again ! 
But  men  are  all  alike — as  long  as  they've  got  what  they 
want,  they  never  think  of  anybody  else.  Dear  me  !  I  won- 
der how  long  I  shall  have  to  wait !  "  So  she  fumed  and  fret- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  511 

ted,  and  sat  by  the  kitchen-fire,  drinking  hot  tea  and  talking 
to  Ulrika — all  the  while  straining  her  ears  for  the  least 
sound  or  movement  from  the  adjoining  room.  But  none 
came — there  was  the  most  perfect  silence.  At  last  she 
could  endure  it  no  longer — and,  regardless  of  Ulrika's  re- 
monstrances, she  stole  on  tip-toe  to  the  closed  door  that 
barred  her  from  the  sight  of  her  heart's  idol,  and  turning 
the  handle  softly,  opened  it  and  looked  in.  Sir  Philip  saw 
her,  and  made  a  little  warning  sign,  though  he  smiled. 

He  was  sitting  by  the  bedside,  and  in  his  arms,  nestled 
against  his  shoulder,  Thelma  rested.  She  was  fast  asleep. 
The  lines  of  pain  had  disappeared  from  her  sweet  face — a 
smile  was  on  her  lips — her  breath  came  and  went  with 
peaceful  regularity, — and  the  delicate  hue  of  a  pale  rose 
flushed  her  cheeks.  Britta  stood  gazing  on  this  fair  sight 
till  her  affectionate  little  heart  overflowed,  and  the  ready 
tears  dropped  like  diamonds  from  her  curly  lashes. 

"  Oh,  my  dear — my  dear  !  "  she  whispered  in  a  sort  of 
rapture  when  there  was  a  gentle  movement, — and  two  star- 
like  eyes  opened  like  blue  flowers  outspreading  to  the  sun. 

"  Is  that  you,  Britta?"  asked  a  tender,  wondering  voice — 
and  with  a  smothered  cry  of  ecstacy,  Britta  sprang  to  seize 
the  outstretched  hand  of  her  beloved  Froken,  and  cover  it 
with  kisses.  And  while  Thelma  laughed  with  pleasure  to 
see  her,  and  stroked  her  hair.  Sir  Philip  described  their 
long  drive  through  the  snow,  and  so  warmly  praised  Britta's 
patience,  endurance,  and  constant  cheerfulness,  that  his 
voice  trembled  with  its  own  earnestness,  while  Britta  grew 
rosily  red  in  her  deep  shyness  and  embarrassment,  ve- 
hemently protesting  that  she  had  done  nothing, — nothing  at 
all  to  deserve  so  much  commendation.  Then,  after  much 
glad  converse,  Ulrika  was  called,  and  Sir  Philip  seizing  her 
hand,  shook  it  with  such  force  and  fervor  that  she  was  quite 
overcome. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  !  "  he  said,  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  gratitude.  "  It's  impossible  to  repay  such 
goodness  as  yours !  My  wife  tells  me  how  tender  and  pa- 
tient and  devoted  you  have  been — that  even  when  she  knew 
nothing  else,  she  was  aware  of  3- our  kindness.  God  bless 
you  for  it !  You  have  saved  her  life " 

"  Ah,  yes,  indeed  !  "  interrupted  Thelma  gently.  "  And 
life  has  grown  so  glad  for  me  again !  I  do  owe  }rou  so 
much." 

"  You  owe  me  nothing,"  said  Ulrika  in  those  harsh,  mo- 


512  THELMA. 

notonous  tones  which  she  had  of  late  learned  to  modulate. 
"  Nothing.  The  debt  is  all  on  my  side."  She  stopped  ab- 
ruptly— a  dull  red  color  flushed  her  face — her  eyes  dwelt  on 
Thelma  with  a  musing  tenderness. 

Sir  Philip  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on.  "  The  debt  is  all  on  n^  side.  Hear 
me  out,  Sir  Philip — and  you  too, — you  '  rose  of  the  north- 
ern forest,'  as  Sigurd  used  to  call  you  !  You  have  not  for- 
gotten Sigurd  ?  " 

"  Forgotten  him  ?  "  said  Thelma  softly.  "  Never  !  .  .  .  I 
loved  him  too  well !  " 

Ulrika's  head  dropped.     "  He  was  my  son !  "  she  said. 

There  was  a  silence  of  complete  astonishment.  Ulrika 
paused — then,  as  no  one  uttered  a  word,  she  looked  up 
boldly,  and  spoke  with  a  sort  of  desperate  determination. 

"  You  see  you  have  nothing  to  thank  me  for,"  she  went 
on,  addressing  herself  to  Sir  Philip,  while  Thelma,  leaning 
back  on  her  pillows,  and  holding  Britta's  hand,  regarded 
her  with  a  new  and  amazed  interest.  "  Perhaps,  if  you  had 
known  what  sort  of  a  woman  I  am,  you  might  not  have 
liked  me  to  come  near — her."  And  she  motioned  towards 
Thelma.  "  When  I  was  young — long  ago — I  loved — 
she  laughed  bitterly.  "  It  seems  a  strange  thing  to  say, 
does  it  not  ?  Let  it  pass — the  story  of  my  love,  my  sin  and 
shame,  need  not  be  told  here  !  But  Sigurd  was  my  child — 
born  in  an  evil  hour — and  I — I  strove  to  kill  him  at  his 
birth." 

Thelma  uttered  a  faint  cry  of  horror.  Ulrika  turned  an 
imploring  gaze  upon  her. 

"  Don't  hate  me !  "  she  said,  her  voice  trembling.  "  Don't, 
for  God's  sake,  hate  me  1  You  don't  know  what  I  have 
suffered!  I  was  mad,  I  think,  at  the  time — I  flung  the 
child  in  the  Fjord  to  drown  ; — your  father,  Olaf  Giildmar, 
rescued  him.  I  never  knew  that  till  long  after; — for  years 
the  crime  I  had  committed  weighed  upon  my  soul, — I  prayed 
and  strove  with  the  Lord  for  pardon,  but  alwa3rs,  always 
felt  that  for  me  there  was  no  forgiveness.  Lovisa  Elsland 
used  to  call  me  "  murderess ;  "  she  was  right — I  was  one, 
or  so  I  thought — till — till  that  day  I  met  you,  Frbken 
Thelma,  on  the  hills  with  Sigurd, — and  the  lad  fought  with 
me."  She  shuddered, — and  her  eyes  looked  wild.  "  I 
recognized  him — no  matter  how!  ...  he  bore  my  mark 
upon  him — he  was  my  son — mine! — the  deformed,  crazy 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  513 

creature  who  yet  had  wit  enough  to  love  you — you,  whom 
then  I  hated — but  now " 

She  stopped  and  advanced  a  little  closer  to  Thelma's  bed- 
side. 

"  Now,  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  you,  my 
dear  !  "  she  said  very  gently.  "  But  you  will  not  need  me  any 
more.  You  understand  what  you  have  done  for  me, — you 
and  your  father?  You  have  saved  me  by  saving  Sigurd, — 
saved  me  from  being  weighed  down  to  hell  with  the  crime 
of  murder  !  And  you  made  the  boy  happy  while  he  lived. 
All  the  rest  of  my  days  spent  in  your  service  could  not  pay 
back  the  worth  of  that  good  deed.  And  most  heartily  do  I 
thank  the  Lord  that  he  has  mercifully  permitted  me  to  tend 
and  comfort  you  in  the  hour  of  trouble — and,  moreover, 
that  He  has  given  me  strength  to  speak  and  confess  my  sin 
and  unworthiness  before  you  ere  I  depart.  For  now  the 
trouble  is  past,  I  must  remove  my  shadow  from  your  joy. 
God  bless  you  ! — and — try  to  think  as  kindly  as  you  can  of 
me  for — for  Sigurd's  sake !  " 

Stooping,  she  kissed  Thelma's  hand, — and,  before  any 
one  had  time  to  speak  a  word,  she  left  the  room  abruptly. 

When,  in  a  few  minutes,  Britta  went  to  look  after  her, 
she  was  gone.  She  had  departed  to  her  own  house  in 
Bosekop,  where  she  obstinately  remained.  Nothing  would 
induce  her  to  present  herself  again  before  Sir  Philip  or 
Thelma,  and  it  was  not  till  many  days  after  they  had  left 
the  Altenfjord  that  she  was  once  more  seen  about  the 
village.  And  then  she  was  a  changed  being.  No  longer 
harsh  or  forbidding  in  manner,  she  became  humble  and 
gentle, — she  ministered  to  the  sick,  and  consoled  the 
afflicted — but  she  was  especially  famous  for  her  love  of 
children.  All  the  little  ones  of  the  place  knew  her,  and 
were  attracted  by  her, — and  the  time  came  when  Ulrika, 
white-haired,  and  of  peaceful  countenance,  could  be  seen 
knitting  at  her  door  in  the  long  summer  afternoons  sur- 
rounded by  a  whole  army  of  laughing,  chattering,  dimpled 
youngsters,  who  would  play  at  hide-and-seek  behind  her 
chair,  and  clamber  up  to  kiss  her  wrinkled  cheeks,  putting 
their  chubby  arms  round  her  neck  with  that  guileless  con- 
fidence children  show  only  to  those  whom  they  feel  can  ap- 
preciate such  flattering  attentions.  Some  of  her  acquaint- 
ance were  wont  to  say  that  she  was  no  longer  the  "  godly  " 
(Jlrika — but  however  this  might  be,  it  is  certain  she  had 
drifted  a  little  nearer  to  the  Author  of  all  godliness,  which, 


614  THELMA. 

— after  all, — is  the  most  we  dare  to  strive  for  in  all  our 
differing  creeds. 

It  was  not  long  before  Thelma  began  to  recover.  The  day 
after  her  husband  arrived,  and  Ulrika  departed,  she  rose 
from  her  bed  with  Britta's  assistance,  and  sat  by  the  blazing 
fire,  wrapped  in  her  white  gown  and  looking  very  fragile, 
though  very  lovely.  Philip  had  been  talking  to  her  for 
some  time,  and  now  he  sat  at  her  feet,  holding  her  hand  in 
his,  and  watching  her  face,  on  which  there  was  an  expres- 
sion of  the  most  plaintive  and  serious  penitence. 

"  I  have  been  very  wicked  !  "  she  said,  with  such  a  quaint 
horror  of  herself  that  her  husband  laughed.  "  Now  I  look 
back  upon  it  all,  I  think  I  have  behaved  so  very  badly ! 
because  I  ought  never  to  have  doubted  you,  my  boy — no — 
not  for  all  the  Lady  Winsleighs  in  the  world.  And  poor 
Mr.  Neville!  he  must  be  so  unhappy!  But  it  was  that 
letter — that  letter  in  your  own  writing,  Philip  !  " 

"  Of  course !  "  he  answered  soothingly.  "  No  wonder 
you  thought  me  a  dreadful  fellow  !  But  you  won't  do  so 
again,  will  you,  Thelma  ?  You  will  believe  that  you  are 
the  crown  and  centre  of  my  life — the  joy  of  all  the  world 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  I  "  she  said  softly  and  proudly.  "  Though 
it  is  alwa3rs  the  same,  I  never  do  think  myself  worthy  ! 
But  I  must  try  to  grow  very  conceited,  and  assure  myself 
that  I  am  very  valuable !  so  that  then  I  shall  understand 
eveiything  better,  and  be  wiser." 

Philip  laughed.  "  Talking  of  letters,"  he  said  suddenly, 
"  here's  one  I  wrote  to  you  from  Hull — it  only  got  here  to- 
day. Where  it  has  been  delayed  is  a  mystery.  You 
needn't  read  it — you  know  everything  in  it  already.  Then 
there's  a  letter  on  the  shelf  up  there  addressed  in  your 
writing — it  seems  never  to  have  been  opened." 

He  reached  it  down,  and  gave  it  to  her.  As  she  took  it, 
her  face  grew  very  sad. 

"It  is  the  one  I  wrote  to  my  father  before  I  left  Lon- 
don," she  said.  And  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  It  came 
too  late !  " 

"  Thelma,"  said  Sir  Philip  then,  very  gently  and  gravely, 
"  would  you  like — can  you  bear — to  read  your  father's  last 
words  to  you  ?  He  wrote  to  you  on  his  death-bed,  and  gave 
the  letter  to  Yaldemar " 

"  Oh,  let  me  see  it ! "  she  murmured  half-sobbingly. 
"  Father, — dear  father !  I  knew  he  would  not  leave,  me 
without  ft  word  I  " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW.  515 

Sir  Philip  reverently  opened  the  folded  paper  which  Sven. 
sen  had  committed  to  his  care  that  morning,  and  together 
they  read  the  bonded  farewell.  It  ran  as  follows  : — 

"  THELMA,  MY  BELOVED, 

"  The  summons  I  have  waited  for  has  come 
at  last,  and  the  doors  of  Valhalla  are  set  open  to  receive  my 
soul.  Wonder  not  that  I  depart  with  joy  1  Old  as  I  am, 
I  long  for  youth — the  everlasting  youth  of  which  the 
strength  and  savor  fails  not.  I  have  lived  long  enough  to 
know  the  sameness  of  this  world — though  there  is  much 
therein  to  please  the  heart  and  eye  of  a  man — =but  with  that 
roving  restlessness  that  was  born  within  rne,  I  desire  to  sail 
new  seas  and  gaze  on  new  lands,  where  a  perpetual  light 
shines  that  knows  no  fading.  Grieve  not  for  me — thou 
wilt  remember  that,  unlike  a  Christian,  I  see  in  death  the 
chiefest  glory  of  life — and  thou  must  not  regret  that  I  am 
eager  to  drain  this  cup  of  world-oblivion  offered  by  the 
gods.  I  leave  thee, — not  sorrowfully, — for  thou  art  in 
shelter  and  safety — the  strong  protection  of  thy  husband's 
love  defends  thee  and  the  safeguard  of  thine  own  innocence. 
My  blessing  upon  him  and  thee  1  Serve  him,  Thelma 
mine,  with  full  devotion  and  obedience — even  as  I  have 
taught  thee, — thus  drawing  from  thy  womanlife  its  best 
measure  of  sweetness, — keep  the  bright  shield  of  thy  truth 
untarnished — and  live  so  that  at  the  hour  of  thine  own 
death-ecstasy  thou  mayest  depart  as  easily  as  a  song-bird 
soaring  to  the  sun !  I  pass  hence  in  Happiness — if  thou 
dost  shed  a  tear  thou  wrongest  my  memory, — there  is 
naught  to  weep  for.  Valdemar  will  give  me  the  crimson 
shroud  and  ocean  grave  of  my  ancestors — but  question  him 
not  concerning  this  fiery  pomp  of  my  last  voyage — he  is 
but  a  serf,  and  his  soul  is  shaken  to  its  very  depths  by  sor- 
row. Let  him  be — he  will  have  his  reward  hereafter.  And 
now  farewell,  child  of  my  heart — darling  of  mine  age — 
clear  mirror  in  which  my  later  life  has  brightened  to  con- 
tent !  All  partings  are  brief — we  shall  meet  again — thou 
and  I  and  Philip — and  all  who  have  loved  or  who  love  each 
other, — the  journey  heavenwards  may  be  made  by  different 
roads, but  the  end — the  glory — the  immortality  is  the  same! 
Peace  be  upon  thee  and  on  thy  children  and  on  thy  chil- 
dren's children  | 

"  Thy  father, 


516  THELMA. 

In  spite  of  the  brave  old  pagan's  declaration  that  tears 
would  wrong  his  memory,  they  dropped  bright  and  fast 
from  his  daughter's  eyes  as  she  kissed  again  and  again  the 
words  his  dying  hand  had  pencilled, — while  Erringtonknew 
not  which  feeling  gained  the  greater  masteiy  over  him, — 
grief  for  a  good  man's  loss,  or  admiration  for  the  strong, 
heroic  spirit  in  which  that  good  man  had  welcomed  Death 
v/ith  rejoicing.  He  could  not  help  comparing  the  bonders 
departure  from  this  life  with  that  of  Sir  Francis  Lennox, 
the  man  of  false  fashion,  who  had  let  slip  his  withered  soul 
with  an  oath  into  the  land  of  Nowhere.  Presently  Thelma 
grew  calmer,  and  began  to  speak  in  hushed,  soft  tones — 

"  Poor  Valdemar  !  "  she  said  meditatively.  "  His  heart 
must  ache  very  much,  Philip  !  " 

Philip  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  You  see,  my  father  speaks  of  the  *  crimson  shroud,'  *' 
she  went  on.  "  That  means  that  he  was  buried  like  many 
of  the  ancient  Norwegian  sea  kings  ; — he  was  taken  from 
his  bed  while  dying  and  placed  on  board  his  own  ship  to 
breathe  his  last ;  then  the  ship  was  set  on  fire  and  sent  out 
to  sea.  I  always  knew  he  wished  it  so.  Valdemar  must 
have  done  it  all — for  I, — I  saw  the  last  glimpse  ol  the 
flames  on  the  Fjord  the  night  I  came  home !  Oh,  Philip!  " 
and  her  beautiful  eyes  rested  tenderly  upon  him, ''  it  was 
all  so  dreadful — so  desolate  !  I  wanted — I  prayed  to  die 
also  !  The  world  was  so  empty — it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
nothing  left ! " 

Philip,  still  sitting  at  her  feet,  encircled  her  with  botk 
arms,  and  drew  her  down  to  him. 

"  My  Thelma  1 "  he  whispered,  "  there  is  nothing  left — 
nothing  at  all  worth  living  for, — save  Love  1  " 

"  Ah !  but  that,"  she  answered  sfeftly, "  is  everything  1 " 


Is  it  so,  indeed  ?  Is  Love  alone  worth  living  for — worth 
dying  for  ?  Is  it  the  only  satisfying  good  we  can  grasp  at 
among  the  shifting  shadows  of  our  brief  existence  ?  In  its 
various  phases  and  different  workings,  is  it,  after  all,  the 
brightest  radiance  known  in  the  struggling  darkness  of  our 
lives  ? 

Sigurd  had  thought  so, — he  had  died  to  prove  it.  Philip 
thought  so, — when  once  more  at  home  in  England  with  his 
recovered  "  treasure  of  the  golden  midnight  "  he  saw  her, 
like  a  rose  refreshed  by  rain,  raise  her  bright  h^ad  in  m 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  SHADOW  517 

newed  strength  and  beauty,  with  the  old  jo3rous  lustre 
dancing  in  her  eyes,  and  the  smile  of  a  perfect  happiness 
like  summer  sunshine  on  her  fair  face.  Lord  Winsleigh 
thought  so ; — he  was  spending  the  winter  in  Rome  with  his 
wife  and  son, — and  there  among  the  shadows  of  the  Caesars, 
his  long,  social  martyrdom  ended,  and  he  regained  what  he 
had  once  believed  lost  for  ever — his  wife's  affection.  Clara, 
gentle,  wistful,  with  the  softening  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow 
and  a  great  repentance  in  her  once  too-brilliant  eyes,  was  a 
very  different  Clara  to  the  dashing  "  beauty  "  who  had  fig- 
ured so  conspicuously  in  London  society.  She  clung  to 
her  husband  with  an  alm'ost  timid  eagerness  as  though  she 
dreaded  losing  him — and  when  he  was  not  with  her,  she 
seemed  to  rely  entirely  on  her  son,  whom  she  watched  with 
a  fond,  almost  melancholy  pride,  and  who  responded  to  her 
tenderness  though  proffered  so  late,  with  the  full-hearted 
frankness  of  his  impulsive,  ardent  nature.  She  wrote  to 
Thelma  asking  her  pardon,  and  in  return  received  such  a 
sweet,  forgiving,  generous  letter  as  caused  her  to  weep  for 
an  hour  or  more.  But  she  felt  she  could  never  again  meet 
the  clear  regard  of  those  beautiful,  earnest,  truthful  eyes — 
never  again  could  she  stand  in  Thelma's  presence,  or  call 
her  friend — that  was  all  over.  Still  Love  remained, — a 
Love,  chastened  and  sad,  with  dropping  wings  and  a  some- 
what doubting  smile, — yet  it  was  Love — 

"  Love,  that  keeps  all  the  choir  of  lives  in  chime — 
Love,  that  is  blood  within  the  veins  of  time." 

And  Love,  no  matter  how  abused  and  maltreated,  is  a 
very  patient  god,  and  even  while  suffering  from  undeserved 
wounds,  still  works  on,  doing  magical  things.  So  that 
poor  Edward  Neville,  the  forsaken  husband  of  Violet  Vere, 
when  he  heard  that  that  popular  actress  had  died  suddenly 
in  America  from  a  fit  of  delirium  tremens  brought  on  by 
excessive  drinking,  was  able,  by  some  gentle  method  known 
only  to  Love  and  himself,  to  forget  all  her  frailties — to  ob- 
literate from  his  memory  the  fact  that  he  ever  saw  her  on 
the  boards  of  the  Brilliant  Theatre, — and  to  think  of  her 
uenceforth  only  as  the  wife  he  had  once  adored,  and  who, 
he  decided  in  vague,  dreamy  fashion,  must  have  died 
young.  Love  also  laid  a  firm  hand  on  the  vivacious  Pierre 
Duprez — he  who  had  long  scoffed  at  the  jeu  d*  amour, 
played  it  at  last  m  grave  earnest, — and  one  bright  season 
he  introduced  his  bride  into  Parisian  society, — a  charming 


5I&  THELMA. 

little  woman,  with  ver}'  sparkling  eyes  and  white  teeth, 
who  spoke  French  perfectly,  though  not  with  the  "  hat-cent  '' 
recommended  by  Briggs.  It  was  difficult  to  recognize 
Britta  in  the  petite  elegante  who  laughed  and  danced  and 
chattered  her  way  through  some  of  the  best  salons  in  Paris, 
captivating  everybody  as  she  went, — but  there  she  was,  all 
the  same,  holding  her  own  as  usual.  Her  husband  was  ex- 
tremely proud  of  her — he  was  fond  of  pointing  her  out  to 
people  as  something  excessively  precious  and  unique — and 
saying — "  See  her  1  That  is  my  wife  !  From  Norway  1 
Yes — from  the  very  utmost  north  of  Norway  I  I  love  my 
country — certainly  1 — but  I  will  tell  you  this  much — if  I 
had  been  obliged  to  choose  a  wife  among  French  women — . 
mafoi!  I  should  never  have  married  1  " 

And  what  of  George  Lorimer  ? — the  idle,  somewhat  care- 
less man  of  "  modern  "  t}rpe,  in  whose  heart,  notwithstand- 
ing the  supposed  deterioration  of  the  age,  all  the  best  and 
bravest  codes  of  old-world  chivalry  were  written  ?  Had 
Love  no  fair  thing  to  offer  him  ?  Was  he  destined  to  live 
out  his  life  in  the  silent  heroism  of  faithful,  unuttered,  un- 
requited, unselfish  devotion  ?  Were  the  heavens,  as  Sigurd 
had  said,  always  to  be  empty  ?  Apparently  not, — for  when 
he  was  verging  towards  middle  age,  a  J'oung  lady  besieged 
him  with  her  affections,  and  boldly  offered  to  be  his  wife 
any  day  he  chose  to  name.  She  was  a  small  person,  not 
quite  five  years  old,  with  great  blue  eyes  and  a  glittering 
tangle  of  golden  curls.  She  made  her  proposal  one  sum- 
mer afternoon  on  the  lawn  at  Errington  Manor,  in  the 
presence  of  Beau  Lovelace,  on  whose  knee  sat  her  little 
brother  Olaf,  a  fine  boy  a  year  younger  than  herself.  She 
had  placed  her  dimpled  arms  round  Lorimer 's  neck, — and 
when  she  so  confidingly  suggested  marriage  to  her 
"  Zordie,"  as  she  call  him,  she  was  rubbing  her  rosy, 
velvety  cheek  against  his  moustache  with  much  sweet  con- 
sideration and  tenderness.  Lovelace,  hearing  her,  laughed 
aloud,  whereat  the  little  lady  was  extremely  offended. 

"  I  don't  tare  !  "  she  said,  with  pretty  defiance.  "  I  do 
love  oo,  Zordie,  and  I  will  marry  oo  !  " 

George  held  her  fondly  to  his  breast  as  though  she  were 
some  precious  fragile  flower  of  which  not  a  petal  must  be 
injured. 

"  All  right ! "  he  answered  gaily,  though  his  voice 
trembled  somewhat, "  I  accept !  You  shall  be  my  little 
wife,  Thelma.  Consider  it  settled  1  " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LONG  S3ADO  W.       519 

Apparently  she  did  so  consider  it,  for  from  that  day, 
whenever  she  was  asked  her  name,  she  announced  herself 
proudly  as  "  Zordie's  'ittle  wife,  Thelma  " — to  the  great 
amusement  of  her  father,  Sir  Philip,  and  that  other  Thelma, 
on  whom  the  glory  of  motherhood  had  fallen  like  a  new 
charm,  investing  both  face  and  form  with  superior  beauty 
and  an  almost  divine  serenity.  But  "  Zordie's  wife  "  took 
her  sobriquet  very  seriously, — so  much  so,  indeed,  that  by- 
•and-by  "  Zordie  "  began  to  take  it  rather  seriously  himself 
— and  to  wonder  whether,,  after  all,  marriages,  unequal  in 
point  of  age,  might  not  occasionally  turn  out  well.  He 
condemned  himself  severely  for  the  romanticism  of  thinking 
such  thoughts,  even  while  he  indulged  in  them,  and  called 
himself  "  an  old  fool,"  though  he  was  in  the  actual  prime  of 
manhood,  and  an  exceedingly  handsome  fellow  withal. 

But  when  the  younger  Thelma  came  back  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  from  her  convent  school  at  Aries, — the  same  school 
where  her  mother  had  been  before  her, — she  looked  so  like 
her  mother,  so  very  like,  that  his  heart  began  to  ache  with 
the  old,  wistful,  passionate  longing  he  fancied  he  had  stilled 
for  evei\  He  struggled  against  this  feeling  for  a  while,  till 
at  last  it  became  too  strong  for  him, — and  then,  though  he 
told  himself  it  was  absurd, — that  a  man  past  forty  had  no 
right  to  expect  to  win  a  girl's  first  love,  he  grew  so  reck- 
less that  he  determined  to  risk  his  fate  with  her.  One  day, 
therefore,  he  spoke  out,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  said,  and 
only  conscious  that  his  pulses  were  beating  with  abnormal 
rapidity.  She  listened  to  his  tremulous,  rather  hesitating 
proposal  with  exceeding  gravity,  and  appeared  more  sur- 
prised than  displeased.  Raising  her  glorious  blue  eyes — 
eyes  in  which  her  mother's  noble,  fearless  look  was  faith- 
fully reflected,  she  said  simply,  just  in  her  mother's  own 
quaint  way — 

"  I  do  not  know  why  you  talk  about  this  at  all.  I  thought 
it  was  all  settled  long  ago !  " 

"  Settled  !  "  faltered  Lorimer  astonished, — he  was  gen- 
erally self-possessed,  but  this  fair  young  lady's  perfect 
equanimity  far  surpassed  his  at  that  moment — "  Settled  I 
My  darling !  my  child — I  am  so  much  older  than  you 
are " 

"  I  don't  like  boys !  "  she  declared,  with  stately  disdain. 
"  I  was  your  wife  when  I  was  little — and  I  thought  it  was  to 
be  the  same  thing  now  I  am  big  I  I  told  mother  so,  and 


620  THELMA. 

she  was  quite  pleased.  But  of  course,  if  you  don't  wank 
me " 

She  was  not  allowed  to  finish  her  sentence,  for  Lorimer, 
with  a  sudden  rush  of  joy  that  almost  overpowered  him, 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  the  first  lover's  kiss  on 
her  pure,  innocently  smiling  lips. 

"  Want  you  !  "  he  murmured  passionately,  with  a  strange, 
sweet  mingling  of  the  past  and  present  in  his  words.  "  I 
have  always  wanted — Thelma  1 " 


THE  END. 


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